The Human and the Werewolf
by Kinthinia
Summary: Searching for his missing father, Stiles comes across an old manor and makes an unbelievable deal in order to save his father. The occupants are all missing people from the area around Beacon Hills, suffering from some kind of physical curse. And why is it that each night Derek Hale sneaks into his bedroom to ask for his forgiveness?
1. His Missing Father

Chapter One, His Missing Father

It might not have been the smartest thing to do, Stiles realized as he wandered out in the dark, flashlight in hand. Correction; it definitely wasn't the smartest thing to do. But he didn't really have any other option, considering his father hadn't been seen in over two days. He gave him a day before he started looking. It was night and the third morning was going to be dawning and Stiles knew how important timelines were to missing people's cases. And no offense to the deputies back in the station, but they weren't exactly the most competent workers -especially without his father around. Stiles was a mess. He'd barely showered or eaten since his father hadn't reported in and Deputy Johnson stopped by to explain that they hadn't heard from his father in over six hours, during the windstorm but Stiles wasn't to panic because it was possible they'd just lost connection and Sheriff Stilinski would probably be back the next morning, grumbling about the weather.

And Stiles might have let himself believe in it, because it was easier. But he _knew_ there was something going on that morning and he didn't care what the deputies had to say as he got into his jeep. His father had been missing for close to twenty-four hours and god knows what could have happened to him. Stiles was not okay with that, not okay at all. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he pulled down the highway, keeping an eye out. There hadn't been a sign of him. Until tonight, when Stiles had started to go searching on foot around the preserve.

There had been a call, some report of a wild animal or something and his father had gone to investigate it. They hadn't heard from since. Stiles could care less if there was a six-foot grizzly bear behind him, he was going to find his _father_ no matter what it took. He didn't linger on the alternatives because there were none; his father was going to be alive when Stiles found him. As Stiles hiked through the woods, the realization really began to creep into his skin about how helpless he would be out here if there were anything other than his father around these parts.

And it was possible, considering all the disappearances, that there was someone out here. Hunting people. In the last five years as many people had gone missing. The new girl who went to school for like half a day before vanishing on her walk home; the troubled loner kids -Erica and Boyd; Isaac Lahey who for all they knew could have run away from home, but was pretty unlikely for a ten-year old; and Lydia Martin, beautiful Lydia had disappeared three months ago. Just like with everyone else, the case was going cold. Stiles had been out in the preserve looking for them as a volunteer when he was old enough to, but no one had seen them. They had simply vanished. And there was no way in hell that Stiles was going to roll over and take it!

They had taken the girl of his dreams -they couldn't have his father too. He would do anything to get him back. With a yelp, Stiles was pitched forward as his foot tangled with an old cedar tree and lost the battle. He slammed his hands into the earth, hissing as they scraped across some loose gravel and dug deep into his skin. He jerked his foot back from the cedar tree's evil grasp, and sat up, glancing at his hands and then at the ground beneath him. He reached over for the flashlight, twisting it to the side and _gasped_.

Because after spending five hours in a forest, hiking, one thing Stiles had noticed was the distinct lack of even ground and gravel. Gravel. He frowned, balancing the light in the crook of his neck as he followed the winding trail. His wounds would be fine -he'd had worse even though they were stinging like mad. He pushed it from his thoughts as he cautiously followed the trail up to an impressive manor. He was tempted to call it a castle but the lack of stone walls and more open architecture had him reconsidering, although by the looks of it, the building could be _older_ than some castles. At one time the house had probably been white, but it was hard to tell with the dust and dirt and wild ivy climbing the walls, and the way trees seemed to have grown over it.

This was weird. There were no houses out here, no record of them. He knew it as well as his father did. Aside from the old house -which, seriously, it looked like it was right out from the _Gone with the Wind_ set or something. He walked up the old, worn brick steps to the double doors, glass arching around it. For just one second he thought he saw glowing eyes, as he raised his hand to the door and knocked. The doors creaked open for him, and Stiles walked into the unlit house with apprehension digging into his gut.

"Dad?" he called, soft and hesitant.

He hadn't taken more than three steps before there was someone ramming into him. Not that Stiles had any experience with it, but he was willing to bet it felt similar to having a car hit him as he was flung three feet aside and crashing into a hard, unforgiving wall as someone snarled, dangerously close. Only it sounded a lot less like a someone and a lot more like a monstrous, salivating _something_ that was about to be breathing down his neck. However, concentrating on that fact was a little difficult due to the nasty ache that was spreading through his back.

And then there were two bright glowing eyes in front of him and he flailed, trying to put distance between him and the-the-the _thing -_whatever the hell it was with hair sprouting all over its face and the extremely pronounced nose. Not to mention the fangs. Stiles aborted his flailing attempt, standing perfectly straight as the _thing_ walked closer to him. Maybe the guy had been born with a birth defect or something, which could explain his defined eyebrows -although, granted, it did nothing to explain the wildness of his beard/sideburns that had sort of grown together.

"Huh," the creature said, pulling back as he regarded him with bright blue eyes. "You smell like the one downstairs." And then he grinned, and it was a horrible, terrifying smile that exposed his unusual jaw and his canines.

"W-what the hell?!" Stiles yelped, jerking away from him as quickly as he could.

"Oh come on," he drawled, eyeing Stiles. "What did _you_ think I was going to do?"

Stiles stared at him for a moment before fishing in his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. He quickly moved through the pictures until he found one of his father, and he hastily shoved it towards the guy. "Have you seen my father?" he demanded. "I'll get out of your hair if you haven't and I'm sorry -I just -he's _missing_."

The thing smiled again, eyeing Stiles in a way that had him feeling uncomfortable and a little violated by the thirty-some year old guy. "Yeah, I've seen him," he chuckled, turning Stiles' cell phone around.

"Where?" he asked, worriedly, watching as he played with his phone. "Hey, that's mine," Stiles protested, reaching to grab it only to have the guy try and bite his hand off. He stumbled back.

"He's downstairs. You give me this, I'll walk you down myself." He grinned ferally again and Stiles wasn't sure whether to take him up on his offer. And really, what was a cell phone in comparison to his father?

"There's no signal," he added, hesitant. "But okay."

The older man grinned, "Well you're reasonable. That's excellent." He started walking and Stiles had to take twice as many steps to keep up with the loping steps this guy took. "I like reasonable people," he added, smirking in Stiles' direction. He didn't even want to think about how many years this guy had been here, alone, in the wilderness.

He was going to be so glad to get out of here, he realized as they descended a curving flight of stairs to the basement. Except instead of being a basement it looked more like a dungeon. Like, an old school dungeon made of stone and with cells built-in. Which sent alarm bells off in Stiles' head, but he could see someone in one of the cells and he hurried over, unaware that the man who had led him here wasn't following, he rushed to his father. He was lying on the floor, clutching to his jacket desperately and shivering. Stiles froze when he saw the blood on the side of his head, panic ebbing up and attempting to suffocate him but he gave it a valiant shove aside.

"Dad!" he cried out, tugging the barred door and expecting it to open -but it didn't even budge. "Dad!" he cried again, dropping to his knees, straining to see if his father's chest was moving.

A moment later, he could see the steady rise and fall of each breath his father took. "What did you do to him?!" he shouted, turning to look towards the man -only to find he had disappeared. "Dad," he said quietly, softly, stretching to get his arm between the bars and straining to manage to drag his fingers across his father's boot. If the yelling hadn't woken him up…

He pulled back, unsure. He peered around the room, as though it held clues for him or something. There were six cells in the room and his father's was the only one containing a cot with pillows, blankets, a bucket and some straw. Why the hell were there so many cells? And why was it that his father's was the only one with human necessities placed there? Stiles glanced at his father and then walked towards the stairs he had just come down, unsurprisingly the door was shut. Upon testing it, because _seriously?_ Stiles found it locked. He went back downstairs, his ADD getting the better of him as he restlessly walked around. He tried all the cells and found they were all locked. Every last one. Which was unusual, generally cells were to keep people _inside_ but considering there was no one inside… were these meant to keep something _out_ then? What the hell kind of a place was this? He exhaled roughly, turning his mind to latch onto the smaller details the room had. Like the chains hanging from the ceiling in each cell except for his father's. In two of them, Stiles could see some headgear with spikes.

Whoever the hell lived here… they were definitely into some kinky shit. But as far as he knew, sadomasochism dungeons were supposed to be a little more leathery and comfortable looking, and this was like something dredged up from the pit of a horror movie meets thriller torture scene. Stiles didn't want to give them any more thought than necessary as he circled back to his father's cell, desperate for a way out of this situation. Desperate to make sure he was okay. He heard him groaning and Stiles threw himself towards the door, watching worriedly.

"Dad!" he called, worriedly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fi- Stiles?" he turned towards him, sitting up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. From this angle the wound didn't look so deep, more shallow and it appeared to have mostly healed already. Which was good. Aside from the dried blood glued to his father's face, the fact that they were in someone's kinky fantasy (and Stiles wouldn't have been surprised if this was what Mr. Glowy eyes upstairs dreamed about). Stiles suppressed a shudder. "Stiles _what_ are you doing here?"

"Saving you?" Stiles laughed uncertainly. "You didn't come home. I got worried."

"Being here is worse!" he groused, getting to his feet. "This is dangerous, Stiles!"

"Were you kidnapped?" he blurted, staring at his father worriedly. "Is that-that guy behind all this?"

His father turned to him slowly, looking around. "Did you see him?"

"Yeah! Hard to miss." Stiles mimed the fangs and the hair for emphasis. His father appeared a little mollified and even if the time wasn't quite appropriate, there was a smile tugging on his lips. "I can't go dad. Both that I won't and that I can't," he added. "The door's locked. He locked me in here."

"There was just one? I thought… I thought I saw two." He looked around, testing the door from his side before sighing.

"Yeah, just one…" Stiles bit his lip. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do more, to reassure his dad that things were going to be okay or ask for reassurance. "I mean, at least there's no blood, right? That's gotta be a step in the right direction. Maybe they just think we're trespassers?"

"I don't think so," his father murmured quietly. "I really don't think so."

Stiles wasn't sure how much time had passed since his father regained consciousness, but Stiles spent his time walking around and checking out the room further. He described the chains and contraptions he saw in the cells beside him, how there was no cot and hypothesized the reason that could be behind it. He searched for keys but he couldn't find any. He even checked for anything that _could_ be used as a lock pick, but there was nothing. Stiles spent the rest of the time talking, too anxious and freaked out to even try to get comfortable and attempt sleep. His father was either too rested or equally restless, because he didn't protest Stiles' energy and instead helped direct his energy and refocus him when his mind wandered too far. His father had manage to confirm his suspicions that this property was utterly unknown to the rest of Beacon Hills; the sheriff had never heard of this place before. They were in the middle of a very healthy debate about whether the owner(s) of this building were responsible for all the kidnappings in the years past, when the door creaked open eerily.

Stiles cut off mid conversation, scrabbling to his feet as he glanced towards the staircase. Peripherally he could see his father shaking his head, telling him not to do anything stupid. Whatever plan he had formed, to take on the older, smaller man faded from his mind when the six foot, broad-shouldered man shouldered his way into the room. The next thing Stiles registered was the fact that his eyes were glowing as well, however they were bright red. And at his side was the same man from before.

"Peter," growled the taller one, his voice sounding wild and like he was barely keeping himself in control.

Stiles would have argued about the control thing, but considering he could see the eerie similarities between both men, he was beginning to doubt his theory on birth defects. The next rational thought he grabbed onto was that maybe they had been exposed to high levels of radiation, which of course led him to panicking about whether they were in fact being exposed to radiation in this room. Maybe this was some secret, underground government cover-up of nuclear experiments or something. It was totally possible.

"What the hell are they doing here?"

The older man with blue eyes -Peter- shrugged. "The one was a drowned rat, I didn't want the cops to come snooping too close. And the other one, well, he just stumbled in here all by himself. Just look at him, adorable."

Stiles had to suppress the urge to shudder, looking from Peter to the other man uncertainly. "I came here looking for my father! Who just happens to be the sheriff," he snapped back without really thinking. He winced when he heard his father's heavy sigh.

"We have to kill him," the younger one commented, raising his head to pierce a glower right at Stiles' father, his eyes vibrantly red.

"No!" he shouted, throwing himself in front of the bars. "No way! No! You do not just go around _killing people_! Un-unless you're actually murderers and not just kidnappers or something."

"Stiles," his father growled, the worry obvious in his tone.

"Others will come if we don't," the younger one seemed to rationalize. "He has to go."

"And what about me, huh?!" Stiles shouted. "You're just going to let me go -I wont forget about this!"

"Which is why I'll make you." He emphasized with a loud snap of his jaws, and the dangerous gleam of his red eyes in the semi-lit room.

"If you can make me forget, then you can make him forget too!"

Peter set his hand on the younger man's shoulder as he stopped moving towards them. "He has a point Derek," he offered. "And if you get rid of the father…"

Derek turned towards them both, his red eyes flickering between father and son before he turned back to Peter and gave a resigned nod. "One condition," he said, his voice gruff as he pinned both of the Stilinskis with his gaze. "If I let the sheriff go, then you stay here with me. One year."

"No!" his father demanded.

At the same time Stiles was responding with: "I'll do it. One year. And my dad's safe?"

"We won't touch a hair on his head," Peter replied. Derek nodded.

At the sound of his name, Stiles turned to his father. "I promise I'll be back Dad, I'll home when this is over. And you'll be safe.. and it'll be good." He smiled weakly, knowing his father would never agree with it. But it wasn't something he could get out of, now that Stiles had agreed. "How is he supposed to forget all of this anyways?" Stiles asked, turning to Derek as the big man walked over and unlocked the cell.

"Magic," Peter cackled.

And then Stiles saw the claws and before his father could even move, Derek was digging his claws into his neck. Stiles went to run, the shout still dying on his lips even as Peter darted forward inhumanly fast and clutched Stiles to his chest. His father slumped forward, eyes shut and un-moving. Derek stepped back, claws retracting into more human nails.

"He'll wake up in an hour, in his cruiser on the side of the road where he was found," Derek was saying. It was hard to concentrate as Stiles had his eyes glued to his father's form, not taking a single breath until he saw his father breathing steadily. "He won't remember what happened here. He'll just think you went off on your own and he went after you, got lost and then he will go home. He'll believe you're staying at a relative's house, for one year while you catch up on some school stuff."

It wasn't completely impossible. It was just unlikely. They were estranged from their other relatives. But Stiles nodded anyways, helpless. Peter seemed to be quite comfortable holding him.

"What're you going to do to me?" he asked feebly. Maybe that was something he should have asked first…

Derek just shrugged. "Peter let him go. He needs to find his room, and Lydia will have to take the measurements. And since you brought _that_ in, you're the one who can fix it." Derek shot Peter a dirty look. "I don't find your attempts at problem solving remotely funny."

Peter cackled. "Oh come on Derek, this affects me just as much as does you and everyone else here! You can't blame me for trying!"

And then, Derek put his hand on Stiles shoulder and forcibly guided him up the stairs. Maybe if he hadn't been up all night, if he had taken his Adderall that morning, he might have recognized her name. He might have realized a couple of things. Instead he was just dead weight on his feet as Derek led him down a long corridor. Sunlight was attempting to pour in through the grime covered windows and Stiles knew that this was going to be a very long year indeed.

* * *

_I'm waiting back on my beta and I sincerely hope they don't mind that I'm publishing this first... _

_For those of you who follow me and are waiting for more The Kidnapping of Stiles Stilinski, there will be more once I decide on a direction to take it. In the mean time, I'm going to be working on this. _


	2. Curse of Hale Manor

Chapter Two, The Beast of Hale Manor

Stiles picked out a room that would serve his purpose, although when mid-morning rolled around he could hardly remember having done so. The tour, if that was what Derek had planned, was largely unsuccessful. Worry bubbled up as he wondered just what he had gotten himself into. Was his father really going to be okay? He had been breathing… Stiles was just about to get out of his massive bed, the canopy shading him from the sun's gaze when the door opened. Of course he had picked the room with the most light in it. He looked over, frowning when he saw Derek standing there with a tray in his hands and a scowl on his face. The guy walked over stiffly, almost as though it was painful for him to do so. He stopped awkwardly, just in front of Stiles -and Stiles realized with a shock, that Derek was waiting for his permission. Stiles reluctantly moved the curtain aside and Derek practically shoved the tray into his arms.

There were scrambled eggs and sausages and an orange juice box sitting on it. If Stiles were anyone but himself, he might have refused to eat it on principle alone. God knows Jackson would have; this kind of food probably wouldn't have been worthy enough to the jerk. However, Stiles was considerably less picky and despite how plain it looked, the eggs and sausage smelled wonderful. His stomach gave a loud growl and he reached for his fork, glancing at Derek suspiciously. The guy looked like he was on the verge of smiling.

"It's not poisoned is it?" Stiles asked bluntly.

Derek scowled. "It's not poisoned."

"You sure? Because it's kind of weird for my kidnapper to be concerned with my eating habits. I mean really."

"You don't want it?" Derek asked archly, reaching out to take the tray.

Stiles pulled it closer, "I never said that."

"Then eat, unless you would rather starve?" There was a low growl in the way Derek phrased his question, one eyebrow lifting as he stared Stiles down.

If he hadn't been so hungry, he totally would have argued back. Stiles dove into his breakfast eagerly. As he ate, he processed all the questions he could think of to direct at Derek. And he started as soon as he swallowed and was attempting to stab his straw through the thin barrier in order to get to his orange juice.

"So I'm staying here for a year?"

"That's the deal," Derek responded, almost wary as he leaned back against his nightstand.

"So I'm staying here for three hundred and sixty-five days? No days off?" Derek nodded. "I can't… I can't go home in that time?" he demanded, shoving his straw a little more forcefully than necessary through the barrier and into his orange juice. How was he supposed to survive a whole year without being at home -what would his father do without him?

Derek sighed. "You have to stay here for a full year. You can't leave."

"And why the hell not?" Stiles frowned at his juice box, taking a long drain from it.

"Because that's not how things work. And _you_ agreed already."

"You didn't tell me that I couldn't see my father in that time! Or-or leave!"

"I said you had to stay for a year," Derek growled. "Or was that not _clear_ enough for you?"

Stiles glared at him. "Well whatever the hell you want me for, I won't do a thing to help you. And don't bother feeding me either -I'd rather starve!"

Functioning on too little sleep had never gone well with Stiles. In addition, being short of his Aderall and not knowing how his father was doing were going to kill him. His father could go back to drinking. It wasn't as though magic was real, much as Stiles often wished it was. (Because seriously, Harry Potter was pretty epic and having any kind of magic would be useful -no matter the situation.) Derek inhaled sharply, taking a slow step back.

_Yeah, that's right buddy_, Stiles thought savagely, _walk away._

"I wouldn't expect anyone to be of help," Derek replied sharply. "But I'd suggest that before you condemn yourself and everyone in this house, you try and figure out what's going on. And you can clean the dishes yourself," he added as he walked out of the room.

Stiles stared after him for a good minute before he collected himself enough to get off the bed and go exploring. Which didn't really require a lot of thought. Awkwardly he fit the tray against his side, dirty dishes and empty juice box precariously balanced as he set out to explore. If anything fell and broke, it would be his fault and Derek would probably make him clean it up anyways. With a frown he adjusted his grip and carried on more cautiously. Thankfully it wasn't a manor or a castle, because he was pretty sure that he would have gotten so lost he never would have found his way to the kitchen. As it was, he managed to get lost three times -the first was his stumbling foray into a bathroom, followed by an unoccupied bedroom and another bathroom before he found himself in the main hallway. From there it was a matter of elimination as he walked down the long hallway and into a huge dining room, the kitchen tucked just behind it. He could see someone standing at the counter, watching him as they drank their coffee and Stiles made his way over.

He was a young man, probably around Stiles' age with tousled curls and a sharp jaw structure. He watched him warily, almost distrustfully. "So you're the new guy, huh?" he remarked, gesturing to the sink. "Didn't even know you were here. Usually Peter makes more of a fuss."

Stiles set his dishes into the sink. "What's so special about me?" he laughed, but the noise was caught somewhere in the back of his throat as he watched the man in front of him change.

He got hairier and his eyes changed to a glowing-golden-yellow as he stared at Stiles. The guy gave a sigh. "Hopefully a lot of things."

"W-wha-what the hell was that?"

"Wha- oh. It was the curse."

"The curse?" Stiles repeated flatly. "What curse?"

He smiled grimly. "Wow, no one told you anything. Welcome to the club." He turned away, pouring a fresh cup of coffee and handed it towards Stiles.

He immediately waved it off. "You don't even want to know what I'm like on coffee."

The other man shrugged, setting the cup down on the counter. "I'm Isaac," he added. "Uh, this will probably be easier if you sit down. The others will be up soon."

"You mean -the other missing people, the-the kids. Jesus Isaac, you were… what, ten when you went missing?"

"Twelve, actually," he corrected. "And for the record, I did run away. And Derek found me."

"What the hell could he want with a kid?!" Stiles shouted, alarmed.

Isaac hissed at him and made a shushing motion. "He's not what you think he is. Or who, not exactly. I mean it's…"

"It's a long story," supplied a woman as she stepped into the kitchen with a yawn. She took the abandoned cup of coffee and Stiles was startled to realize that she looked _normal_. "Isaac's never been a very storyteller," she added, clearly teasing as she took a sip of her coffee.

Isaac rolled his eyes. "I hate being left with the new kids."

"I remember when you were a new kid," she teased gregariously, ruffling his hair as she moved to sit down across from Stiles. "I'm Allison," she added warmly.

"Stiles," he replied sheepishly. "So can you tell me what's going on here, exactly?"

"We're cursed."

"What kind of a curse?"

"One that makes almost all of us look this," Isaac said, gesturing to his face with a clawed hand.

"But from midnight until ten, they can be human. Everyone here except for Derek that is." Allison almost sounded sympathetic, the way she spoke. "It's because there's been a curse here for the last seven years."

If Stiles hadn't witnessed Isaac's transformation he might have doubted the whole curse scenario. Their appearances were strange, inhuman even. "Why don't you change?"

"I wasn't brought here for the same reason as everyone else," she explained, sadness creeping into her voice. "Our car broke down. And we were stranded here, but once you enter you can't leave with your memories intact. My… mother never trusted Derek, and she was the one that had decided to pay the price, for my father and I. Except her plan was to kill him in his sleep and sneak out with us -she, uh, thought he was a pedophile. And Derek killed her. So the curse doesn't effect me, in the same way as it does Isaac. I can't leave though, it's like there's a barrier around the place. While my father can leave since the curse didn't pass to him, he won't in order to make sure that I'm okay." She smiled weakly.

Stiles got up, hugging her quickly. "You didn't have to share all that. I'm sorry for that."

"It's okay," she told him. "It's been a long time, since. And I've had spent a lot of time working through my hate, to accept that my mother was in the wrong. It also serves as a cautionary tale," she added, with a wince. "Don't try and kill Derek or anything drastic, because it'll effect the people closest to you. I know my mother never meant for that to happen but…" She stopped, taking a deep breath and exhaling.

Stiles moved back to his own seat, frowning. So fighting Derek was out of the question -not that he really would have dared, considering that the guy had a foot and a half on him and was made of solid muscle. Fighting wouldn't be in Stiles' favor.

"Okay," Stiles agreed. "So how does Derek's curse transfer to you guys, exactly?"

"We have one year to… well, forgive him," Isaac said awkwardly, coming to join them at the table. "We either find him or he finds us, so long as we're on Hale property, we're affected by the curse from the first step. We have a year to break the curse on him, to forgive him. If we don't succeed…" he shrugged, "you just end up looking like me."

"He picked his uncle first, to try and break the curse," Allison supplied. "Because Peter's family, it would have made sense. My family was an accident and we failed that first night. The year after that was Isaac, because Derek thought that earning a child's forgiveness would be easier."

"I think that one was mostly Peter's idea," Isaac murmured.

"Needless to say, it didn't work. And every year, we get one new visitor. And you're our latest guest." Allison smiled and she seemed to be so genuine about it, that Stiles couldn't help but smile back.

"What does Derek need forgiveness for, exactly?"

Allison and Isaac traded a look, before sighing. Isaac took a long drink from his coffee. "That's the problem, really. No one knows."

"How can you not know?" This curse effected them as much as Derek -how could they not know?

"Derek won't tell anyone," Isaac said quietly. "Whatever it is, is a big deal. And we're okay with not knowing. If we were the one meant to break it, then he would have told us."

"What if he told you and you were the one, but because he didn't, now you're stuck in his hell?" Stiles countered.

"Don't be so hard on him," Allison admonished. "He blames himself for all of us being stuck here."

"Not that it's bad for you," Isaac teased. "You fell in love. And so did Erica and Boyd. Derek's the only one lonelier than me."

Stiles chuckled. "I bet I could give you a run for you money," he joked, waggling his brows at Isaac. It was worth it, as Allison giggled and Isaac looked torn between whether he wanted to strange Stiles or laugh as well. "How many of you guys are there?"

"Well I came here with my father, after Peter had been here. And then it was Isaac. Scott and his mom wound up here, and I think Erica came here next and Boyd was the year after that. And then Lydia. And now you," Allison grinned. "Lydia's the same way as me. Her boyfriend got her into this mess but she managed to help him escape, so now she's stuck here as the errand girl."

Stiles frowned at that. "Lydia, Erica, Boyd… they're really okay?"

"Yup. As healthy as Isaac," Allison giggled at that. "Since coming here Erica hasn't had one seizure. We think she might be cured, actually."

"That's… wow. So where are they?"

"Scott's still sleeping, he doesn't usually start moving until now. Melissa's -his mom -she's probably in the kitchen, helping Dad. And Erica and Boyd are up to their usual fun, I imagine. Peter should be up soon, I would guess but he might have gone to research with Lydia."

"Research?" That was something Stiles could do. He was good at that. He gave Allison his best puppy eyes. "Please don't tell me I have to be one of his pets or something to get that privilege. I don't like Derek that much."

Isaac stifled a laugh.

"It's Peter," Allison supplied at Stiles' questioning look. "Peter looks after the library. You want to research, you need Peter's permission and you have to learn to take notes his way. Lydia could teach you. Derek doesn't have anything to do with the library, I think it's hard on him."

"He gave up?" That was surprising. He wouldn't have pegged the surly man to be a quitter.

"Seven years is a long time," Isaac replied defensively. "It hasn't been easy on any of us, Derek especially. He used to be right in there with Peter, they spent most of their time studying when Derek could have spent it getting to know Scott -but instead, he spent more time locked up and reading. Scott could have forgiven him, of any of us, Scott had the best chance." He sighed bitterly. "And now we'll never know. So no, Derek doesn't involve himself with the library. Not anymore."

* * *

_Wrote this pretty late last night, leaving for two days. Hope you enjoy. :) _


	3. A Prideful Plea

Chapter Three, A Prideful Plea

As soon as a guest had set foot onto cursed Hale land, they had to stay for a year unless they had a blood relative that they could switch places with. Those three hundred and sixty-five days meant that they would be untouched by the physical effects of the curse. Leaving the grounds was forbidden to all of them, except for Chris, because the curse kept them on Hale property. A barrier would keep all of them inside, except for those affected by the curse. It was how Chris kept them stocked with food and how he had been able to send the Sheriff back home. Derek watched from the parlor window as Stiles glanced furtively around before setting off for the barrier, no doubt to test what Isaac and Allison had spent all morning explaining. Derek looked over at the laptop his uncle had set up a few years ago, one that Chris had bought at his request -not to mention the wireless that he had installed by himself. Derek left it available in the parlor for everyone in the house, so they could follow their loved ones and make sure they were okay. No doubt Stiles would want to know how his father was doing. Lydia, Erica and Boyd had all been the same when the curse changed them.

Derek would give Stiles what time he needed for himself, sitting down in the parlor and listening. He knew better than to give Stiles no attention or to dote on him. He had learned as Isaac and Allison grew up with their insecure and bitter jealousies that it wouldn't be fair of him to wait on Stiles. During Isaac's first year at Hale manor, he had felt like he was needed and important and could make the difference in Derek's life. But Isaac was twelve when their next guest joined them, and while Derek hadn't meant to, he had been desperate to save them all from this and spent more and more time with Erica, determined to make up for mistakes with Scott.

Instead he made it worse. Isaac started acting out, refused to talk to him while Scott withdrew into his shell. He would have gone crazy if it weren't for Chris and Melissa, both of them pulling Scott from his shell and calming Isaac down long enough that Derek could explain to him and apologize for his actions. He was never very good at apologies, but one look at Isaac's scrunched up angry face was more than enough guilt to add on. He failed his family first, and now, for seven years in a row he had failed those stuck living with him.

"You know, I think the worst part of your plan was the children," Peter drawled from the entryway. "They're too concerned with themselves to care, Derek. And teenagers are worse."

Derek grit his teeth. "I didn't ask for this Peter," he bit out roughly.

"It's a curse for a reason," Peter pressed. "And the only thing you ever say is that you didn't ask for it -but what was it that you _did_, to get cursed?"

"I'm not talking about this."

"Which is why we're still here," his uncle hissed. "You won't talk about it, you won't admit that there's anything that needs to be forgiven –news flash _Derek_, we're here because of you!"

"We'll find a way out of this mess," Derek countered smoothly, pretending his uncle hadn't said anything. "I'll fix it."

"You can't," Peter sneered. "It's why you dragged me here; it's why everyone else got involved in your mess. Because you can't fix it. If you could, you would have. So thanks for trying, but this is all on you."

_And you'll never let me forget it._ Derek sighed, turning away. "Thanks for the reminder uncle," he murmured softly.

Peter swore and walked out. He didn't waste his breath and for that Derek was grateful. Although it didn't mean the man went out of his way to spare shoving knives into his back. Their first year trapped in here had been interesting, of course. Especially when Peter got the knives out. He wanted to know what trouble his nephew had gotten into. He wanted to know why he was stuck in here and why Derek had brought him into this mess.

A small part of Derek had thought that it would be easier to tell family. That Peter would understand. He could never get the words out. And Peter would never forgive him for it either. Derek listened as Peter's footsteps faded away before sighing and moving over to the bookshelves. There were so many books here, they were limitless. He brushed his fingers along their spines; desperately wanting to read them but unsure if he should even try. Sometimes he missed reading.

And then he would remember the way Scott glared at him, the hatred and bitterness in his eyes whenever he looked at Derek. His guilt flickered back to life, a flame that couldn't be doused, and he glanced towards the door just as Stiles crept in. The teenager cast a furtive glance around before seeming to relax, exhaling. Derek smirked to himself and soundlessly walked to the parlor door before matching Stiles step for step.

"Find what you were looking for?" he inquired, eyes dancing.

Stiles jumped with a startled yelp, whirling to face him, brown eyes blown wide and his heart rate sky rocketing. Derek chuckled. He would take what amusement he could get, when he could get it.

"You can't just do that to a guy!" Stiles gasped out, inhaling a lungful of air. "Jesus Christ! You almost gave me a heart attack."

"We have a nurse and a defibrillator, no need to worry."

"Says the real-life Beast," Stiles snarked, shooting a glare at him. "You've got like, a hundred pounds on me, easy. I can't scare you –and where the hell did you come from anyways?"

Derek indicated the parlor, ignoring Stiles' jibe. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"You mean a fat lot of nothing?" He sighed. "Then yes, I found exactly that."

"I know Isaac talked to you," Derek prodded.

"And I'm not going to screw this up for everyone, if that's what you mean," Stiles added. "I'll…" he shrugged. "I'll do what I can."

"Can't ask for more than that," Derek responded cautiously.

"Will I get to meet everyone?"

"Why?"

"It seems… appropriate." Stiles frowned. "I mean, since I'm the one that'll be saving all your asses. I think I should start with the special treatment."

"Oh, ha-ha." Derek rolled his eyes.

Stiles grinned, "Royal treatment even, you know? King sized bed, big fancy breakfast served to me by the hottest, a backrub whenever I want…"

"You're like sixteen, why do you want a backrub?" Derek interrupted. "And I wouldn't get your hopes up."

"What do you mean?"

It was Derek's turn to shrug. "We tend to avoid meeting all together. It helps prevents fights."

"Fights?"

"Not everyone is quite so… well adjusted," he offered.

Scott, for instance was a great example of that. Melissa had done better at adapting to their circumstances than Scott. She was here voluntarily, just as Chris was to keep an eye on their children. Erica had her moments; usually she was pretty fine about the situation, but sometimes she would fluctuate to an extreme that resulted in requiring both Isaac and Boyd to restrain her. Isaac and Allison were doing the best. Peter kept to the library where the others would eventually drift off to help him. Lydia especially. It was hard to pinpoint how she was doing with the situation, whether she was in denial or acceptance considering the fact that she spent more time with Peter than anyone else. Derek rarely saw her.

But everyone contributed something to this shell of a house they lived in. Melissa tended wounds and helped Boyd, while Lydia and Erica managed with fashion and mending clothes. Chris had gotten a wireless router installed for them a few years back, something that had earned him the pack's loyalty. Derek didn't mind. He especially didn't mind when he felt the tension ease out of the house and at first he had been suspicious and worried, until he caught them watching their family members. It had something to do with the curse, Derek knew, but when they opened their laptops they would have five minutes of undisturbed viewing of whoever they wanted to see. Of their family. It used to happen occasionally with the mirrors in the house, but they were never reliable enough.

Scott spent over a month, sitting in front of one of the mirrors and never moving as he desperately tried to recreate the requirements to see his father again. Melissa had managed to coax him away from it. It would do Stiles wonders to see his father, to know that Derek hadn't been lying. It had helped Lydia at any rate, when she first arrived.

"Lydia's here, right?" Stiles asked cautiously. "I remember you mentioned her name…"

"She's here," Derek replied. "You can see her, if you can find her. I think she's in the library. Probably with Peter…"

Stiles frowned, his brows wrinkled in confusion. "That old guy…? They're looking for a way to break the curse, right?"

"Lydia and I are not on speaking terms," Derek clarified with a quiet growl. "Ask her when you see her, if you want to know so badly. In the meantime, we have things to do." He walked away.

For a minute, he wasn't sure Stiles was going to follow but then he did. For which he was grateful. He led him to his own study room, on the second floor. Derek could sense Peter further in the archives, his concentration was intense; with him was Lydia, as Derek had guessed. He didn't tell Stiles. Instead he pushed the boy into the chair before he could protest. Stiles turned to the laptop, lifting the screen and Derek moved away to give him some measure of privacy as his father's image appeared.

"H-how-?"

"It just happens," Derek replied quietly. "Watch."

Silence fell between them. Another unique effect of the magic that came with the laptops was that sound was only available to the one seeking the image. Whatever sound there was, if there was any, was given to Stiles. He heard the teenager sniffle but he made no move to comfort him as the chair squeaked and Stiles scrubbed at his eyes.

"How… I mean, he really… he really thinks that I'm staying with a relative. I saw him. I saw him tell that to Johnson. It was just like, like we had planned it or something. He found me looking for him and shipped me off to my great-aunt in Minnesota for the year, because I had better schooling options. It's… almost like he doesn't care."

"He's not worried," Derek explained. "He believes it. He doesn't know who the relative is or how to contact you; he'll fill in the blanks himself. They always do."

Stiles laughed sadly. "He'll probably think that I'm staying with my Aunt Mildred, and she's like the biggest technophobe of the century. She only writes us letters and she doesn't even have a TV in her house."

Derek watched Stiles closely, the redness around his eyes visible as the teenager swallowed tightly before meeting Derek's gaze. "But it's better. I mean, he isn't worried…"

"And he won't."

"What happens if I don't break the curse?" Stiles asked quietly. "What happens when I don't come home when he expects me to?"

"Then you'll be another missing person."

"No I won't," Stiles said confidently. "If it takes me three hundred and sixty-three days, I _will_ break the curse on you. On everyone stuck here. And then I'm going home."

If optimism was his coping mechanism, Derek would let him have it. Everyone had it before, except for Lydia. She had accepted her fate as soon as she was told and she bypassed all their expectations by practically moving into the library and archives and researching for all she was worth. Her presence, like Melissa's, was good for Allison. She got along better with the red-head than she ever did with Erica.

* * *

Dinner was an interesting affair, Stiles was quick to learn. Interesting in that it was absolutely terrifying. The dining room was huge, and despite having a table that could seat twelve there was still excess space. A lot of it. When he was summoned down after taking a few hours of privacy to start researching on what he could find out about the curse, introductions were given rather haphazardly. It was a blur mostly, of a lot of people. But there were two faces he didn't see –Peter, for which he was grateful, and Lydia. And he wasn't sure how to feel about that. Did she know he was here? He would love to see her, just to know that she was okay.

He had known of Erica, more than knowing her on a personal level. They had gym class together. He didn't know her that well though, but he still went out to help look for her around the preserve. Her parents were worried about her. The Erica he met hardly resembled the old her, with her neatly kept hair and the whole lycanthropy vibe he was getting from her. Her grin was deadly and her eyes were teasing. Boyd, on the other hand, he had known somewhat. When he needed a favor or two, Boyd was there. Boyd looked the same, mostly. A little more muscular.

Okay, maybe a lot more muscular than he remembered when he last saw him.

But they weren't Lydia. Lydia he had known since childhood and it would have been great to have some assurance that she was alright. He didn't exactly trust Derek's judgment and he was pretty sure that no one could fault him for it either. He would get to the bottom of this mystery though and they would all be home free within the next three hundred and sixty-three days. Stiles was not spending more than a year here and no one deserved this anyways. Not even Derek, whatever it is that he could have done. And seriously, how did the guy find someone in the twenty-first century who could even cast a real, bona-fide curse?

Stiles had gone out this morning to check the boundary that Isaac had mentioned in passing. It kept them from leaving. It was a physical thing that repelled him from leaving, and it only stung worse the more he tried. Chris and Melissa were the only ones who could leave –they kept the place full of food and maintained the bills. With Derek's money, as was fully appropriate.

But back to the task at hand, which was the terrifying mess that was dinner. Stiles stumbled into the room only to realize he was about the last to arrive and everyone was starting to sit down. He could see Erica watching his every move and he could see the curiosity in Boyd's eyes. It was Allison who waved him over to an empty seat beside her and Isaac that he gratefully took. There were three empty seats and only two faces he didn't recognize –the middle aged with black, curly hair had to be Melissa, Scott's mother, and the teenaged boy with a sullen puppy dog pout on his face had to be Scott. And judging by Allison's sweet smile at him, he was right. Isaac had filled him in on a couple of details, when he wandered into the study upstairs. Mainly that Scott and Allison sort of had a thing going on. Chris didn't approve of it and Derek kept his nose as far from them as he could.

The meal was extravagant, Stiles realized as he looked at the dishes before him. It seemed to be a roast that was just falling apart as everyone cut into it. There were mashed potatoes with gravy creatively drizzled over them and the garnish had been artfully added. It smelled delicious and tasted even better.

"Dad has a lot of time on his hands," Allison explained with a laugh.

"He spends more time cooking than doing anything else," Isaac added. "He's the best."

Stiles flashed their chef a grin. "It's great sir," he told him enthusiastically. There was just something about Chris Argent that demanded respect and from the way he looked at Stiles, adding 'sir' had been the correct thing to do.

"So how old are you, Stiles?" Melissa asked. They were seated directly across from each other.

"Seventeen."

"Same age as me," Scott said, flashing a dopey smile at him.

Stiles smiled back.

"You'll have to pick up the online courses too then," Chris added, cutting his roast into smaller pieces. "Like Scott, Erica and Boyd are."

Stiles glanced at Allison. "I graduated early, with Lydia and Isaac," she clarified.

"We got them fake IDs," Melissa added. "Do you need one?"

"Nah, I'll be good for the year. My dad thinks I'm with my aunt." Stiles shrugged. "School stuff."

"Well… that was nice of Derek," Melissa said, attempting to keep the atmosphere light.

It didn't work. Scott scowled and turned away, eyeing his plate like he was giving serious consideration to not eating. Allison and Melissa both shot him a glower, and he wasn't oblivious enough to not realize it as he picked his fork back up and took an inelegant bite of the roast. Chris's frown, however, did go unnoticed and ignored. Stiles hid a smile.

He was almost finished his dinner before Derek walked into the room. And everything suddenly seemed different. Isaac sat straight up in his chair and smiled brighter, more genuinely; Erica also sat up, but casually in such a way to make her cleavage more noticeable while Scott scowled and pushed his barely touched plate away. He got up despite his mother's protest, grabbed his plate and stalked away, the slamming of a door echoing behind him as Derek took a seat at the head of the table, two empty chairs occupying the space there. Somehow, Stiles doubted that either Lydia or Peter would have willingly sat there with Derek.

Stiles peered down the length of the table to see Derek sigh and give an apologetic smile at Scott's mother.

"It's not your fault," she sighed. "Scott's just… having a rough time." She finished her plate quickly before leaving the room, Chris following not long after.

Allison frowned at her mostly empty plate before turning to Derek. "It took days to convince him to come up here again. You could have waited five minutes longer."

She didn't even apologize as she got up and left. Isaac sighed to himself and Boyd shook his head, taking seconds. Feeling more cautious than before, Stiles ate a bit slower so he could have longer to observe what the hell was going on with these guys.

"So Derek," Erica all but purred.

"Yes?" he asked, and Stiles would almost swear he was being cautious about it even as he stabbed two pieces of roast onto his plate.

Isaac hid a smirk, downing his glass of ginger ale before polishing off his plate. Even Boyd seemed to be hiding a smile.

"How come you haven't sent Stiles up yet?" She glanced over at him with a flirty grin. "I mean it's a shame. That beat up old hoodie, and those stained jeans. Honestly."

Derek smiled tightly. "I was going to get around to it Erica."

Stiles felt decidedly uncomfortable when Erica looked him over head-to-toe. "We should get to it then, Stilinski," she said brightly as she got up. "You're looking a little underdressed."

"Good luck," Isaac offered under his breath.

Stiles didn't have a chance to even reply as Erica was literally pulling him from his spot and his unfinished meal and dragging him upstairs to a workroom he had missed. It was full of fabrics, a sewing machine with a bunch of needles and thread lying on the table with some shirts. Erica pulled out the measuring tape and got to work. Under different circumstances it might not have been quite so uncomfortable, but Erica seemed to thrive on that and did everything she could to make it more awkward. Because really, Stiles didn't know that it was necessary to get measurements _that_ close as she wrapped the tape around his waist, her hand a little too close for comfort as he tried to shift only to be reprimanded by her.

It was a long two hours. She drew out the measuring process and then spent the rest of the time shooting down every fashion preference he had. Except for jeans. He was allowed to keep his jeans. But she vetoed the plaid ideas, and most of the hoodies and then she disregarded everything he said and picked out what she thought would look the best. To his displeasure. There was nothing wrong with plaid and Stiles happened to be able to pull it off very well. At least as far as he knew, no one had told him otherwise. He was gonna miss his plaid. Erica had at least let him keep a hoodie and the t-shirts hopefully wouldn't be too bad. He sighed.

She was nice enough to at least walk him back to his own room, for which he was grateful. He probably would have gotten lost. It was a big house and most of the rooms looked the same, his included. The canopy bed should have given it away, but he was exhausted with the day's events. He flopped onto the bed, frowning a little at how he almost sank into it before it recovered and then he promptly fell asleep. Those two hours sure as hell felt a lot longer than two hours.

He woke up slowly, groggy with sleep and the darkness that had draped itself over him during the night. He blinked blearily at the glowing alarm clock, the bright red numbers reading out that it was well after midnight. He stifled a groan, rolling over and promptly flailed himself right out of bed with a hoarse shout of alarm.

"Shit, Stiles," Derek cursed, walking around the bed. "You okay?"

Stiles groaned in response, getting up and ignoring the ache in his tailbone. "Fuck you Derek. What the hell are you doing here? In my bedroom. In the middle of the night." He shot him a glower as he gingerly sat down on his bed.

"It's my house," Derek retorted, but it seemed more of an automatic response than anything else. "I didn't mean to scare you," he said, in lieu of an apology. "I didn't think you'd be asleep."

Stiles sighed. "So you just walked in here and stared at me all creepishly? What do you want?"

To his shock and horror (and if he was being honest, to his small delusional joy) Derek got down on his knees and bowed his head. He took a deep breath before turning to look up at Stiles –and he was amazed to see that the lycanthropic changes were gone from his features –he was totally human. And he was gorgeous. Stiles almost reached out to him, sleepy and lethargic, Derek caught his hand with his own.

"Would you forgive me?"

Derek's eyes were a mix of blue and grey, maybe a little green, it was hard to tell in the darkness with only a sliver of moonlight to see with. There was sincerity in his eyes and hesitance in his features. He seemed strangely vulnerable.

Stiles couldn't stop looking at the very human man before him. "For what?" he asked, almost reluctantly.

It was instantaneous. Derek's hands turned from normal to clawed and hairy, his eyes glowed and flashed red once more as his wolfish fangs and facial hair changed into the lycanthropic features he was used to. Derek jerked away quickly.

"I'm not going to talk about it," Derek said gruffly, getting back to his feet quickly.

Stiles stared after him as he walked out of his room. "You couldn't ask when I'm actually awake?" he grumbled, lying back on his bed.

He hadn't expected that. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but somehow it wasn't that.

It wouldn't occur to him until he was on the cusp of unconsciousness, as Allison's voice washed through his mind. _"But from midnight until ten, we can be human. Everyone here except for Derek that is."_

* * *

_I had some troubles putting this chapter together. I hope you like it. :)_

_Thanks so much for all the feedback and I look forward to hearing from you _


	4. Pissed off any fairies lately?

Chapter Four, Pissed off any fairies lately?

Stiles didn't sleep in late; instead he crept up to the study and searched for what information he could find on breaking curses. Mostly he got Disney stories and some of Grimm's fairytales. When he added in more details about the curse, like the whole 80's movie werewolf bit, his search pool was so shallow he was looking at Beauty and the Beast.

Which despite everything, seemed to be what this curse was based off of, more or less. In the original story, the Beast used to come to Belle's room every night and get down on one knee and propose. To which she refused, of course. And after that, Belle would dream of a handsome prince asking her why she wouldn't save him, which spurred her curiosity on. Eventually unable to find the prince she thought the Beast was keeping locked up, she grew homesick and he sent her home with a magic ring and a mirror. She had only a week before she was to return, and she went to her sisters and father wearing the rich clothes the Beast had gifted her, and her sisters grew jealous. They used onions to help themselves cry, eventually moving Belle so much she agreed to stay a day longer. When she used her mirror, which unlike Disney's version showed only the Beast and his castle so she could keep an eye on him, she found him half-dead of heartbreak and used her ring to return. The tears of the heartbroken Belle who loved the Beast shattered the curse and he awoke and returned to the handsome prince she had searched for earlier.

A love story through and through.

Different sources cited different reasons for the curse. The Beast had refused a good fairy shelter from the rain; he had mocked a witch; an old hag sought safety and he turned her away; there was a blood feud between two families, resulting in the Beast's unfortunate curse and in an uncontrollable rage he murdered his family. Anger was always an issue, in most of these, it seemed. There was another source saying that the Beast was cursed so he could learn to control his temper better after he struck an innocent down; after he victimized a less-than aesthetically pleasing girl he was turned into a beast so he might learn something from it. Most of the stories seemed to center on a lesson being learned from his transformation. And worse yet, for those suffering the curse too there seemed only two fates left to them –death, should the Beast fail, or returning to their selves if he succeeded.

Stiles wasn't sure he wanted to look much deeper than that, because it didn't seem like love would save Derek Hale. Children's unconditional love and familial love had done nothing, but then that was a hard thing to say about Peter. Whether Derek's uncle had any love or not, especially in regards to his nephew. The guy couldn't even be bothered to show up to dinner –clearly, there was something going on. But either way it wasn't enough. It was hard to speculate on what the cause of a curse could be in a situation like this. It wasn't as though witches or fairies just wandered around. Maybe it was a bit more complicated?

It would be so much easier if Derek could just tell them what he had done and why. Stiles could work with that. Most of the curses focused around that. The Beast had to let someone love him for his exterior as he had been unable to of others; the Beast had to learn hospitality and be a charming host; he had to overcome his anger and deal with his issues. Why couldn't Derek forgive himself –or better yet, why wouldn't he forgive himself? It would be easier, for them. But it must have been a hell of a battle for the guy.

Somehow, Stiles had a hard time believing that Derek was the kind of guy who judged a person solely based on their appearances. In particular, considering the people gathered here. There was no way that was the case. At least, Stiles certainly hoped it wasn't that. Maybe it was the hospitality lesson? No, that wouldn't explain the lesson to be learned by forgiveness. Unless the lesson wasn't about forgiveness, if the lesson was about learning to rely on others… if that was the lesson, then Derek was failing spectacularly.

It didn't exactly explain the cause of it, but maybe the cause wasn't the important part. If you looked at all the stories and wiped out their openings, from the Disney version all the way to the Alliance version… It was a story about a guy with anger issues and manner issues, learning to fall in love with someone. Or having to earn someone's love. As a prince it was a given, as a handsome man attention was given –it wasn't earned per se. Maybe that was more applicable to Derek? Either way at the end of the stories there was near-death, sacrifice and love. Was there any real connection between Derek's curse and these ones though? It seemed almost too far-fetched, but there was truth in every fairytale and myth. There was truth, morality and a lesson all bundled up together and retold over the centuries.

Stiles signed up absently at an online schooling program that everyone seemed to be raving about. He was in the process of downloading some assignments when Derek found him. His mind wasn't focused on what he was doing, even so. He was trying to find a way to bring up the cause of the curse. The cause would give them the reason, the lesson, after all. It was the most direct path to getting an answer and the most logical starting point.

"Breakfast is ready," Derek stated, glancing around the room.

Stiles followed his gaze and realized that the place was quite sparse, aside from the few papers he had printed out. Nothing he thought would be useful. "Kay," he said, swiveling back around to face the laptop.

He had seen his father again this morning. And god, was it nice. The sheriff wasn't worrying his head off, instead taking the day on easily and keeping himself out of trouble. Despite Stiles' worries, the man didn't go for the eggs this morning and instead went for the organic, specially bought cereal. Stiles was almost proud.

"You do know we have books on everything here, right?" Derek asked a touch uncertain. "Peter and Lydia are going through them. You'd be welcome to help."

Stiles stopped to look back at him. "I thought there would have been something online… but there's nothing."

"Well there wouldn't be," Derek said evenly. "If it was that easy we would have broken the curse already."

"So… have you, y'know… pissed off any fairies lately?"

Derek blinked, frowned and then gave Stiles such a glare he was surprised his flesh hadn't melted off with the heat of it. Instead of cowering, Stiles shifted in his swivel chair and flashed an innocent grin at Derek. It was the grin that meant he was up to no-good, but thankfully no one here knew him that well and he could get away with it without raising alarm bells.

"What about witches? I hear they're quite finicky about insults."

Derek's only response was a flat, unimpressed stare.

"That's a no then," Stiles murmured. "Did you kill anyone? Harass their children? Did you forget to offer an elf a cup of tea –because that's quite offensive you know, in their culture, they can do whatever the hell they want if you don't pay them for their work. In one case they even took the guy's head off! A curse like this in comparison to losing a head would b-"

Derek lunged so quickly Stiles didn't even see it coming until the cursed man had his clawed hand around Stiles' neck and shoved him face first against the desk. "Would be _nothing_ in comparison to this," Derek growled out. "At least decapitation is quick."

"Actually it's really not," Stiles volunteered from his uncomfortable position. His heart was pounding. "It could take the executioner three swings to completely sever the head and I don't think that would be pleasant. I wonder how much feeling the prisoner would have in that case, being mostly decapitated but not quite…"

He heard Derek snort and was relieved when the man pulled away. Stiles felt a little queasy, partly because of the intimidation and partly because of the topic at hand but mostly he was still trying to work out exactly what kind of effects there would be on a person who wasn't quite beheaded.

"People nowadays wouldn't be any more skilled at that sort of an execution. I think it was why the guillotine became so popular, because it was a mechanized killing machine that was effective. There was no gory hacking of heads to separate them from traitors or whatever."

Derek stared at him. "I took history class," he said vaguely. "I know."

"You can think of how different the experiences would have been for Ann Boleyn and Marie Antoinette," Stiles continued nonchalantly. "I mean Ann went to death for a made-up rumor about her sleeping with her brother so that King Henry could legitimately marry his mistress –and he had her head chopped off. If it took three hacks from some weak guy like me, well-"

"I know, Stiles," Derek ground out, shooting him an agonized glare. "Believe me I know." He walked away.

Did that mean Derek was a history buff? It was possible, being cooped up here with all these books. Stiles followed after him. There was no way that Derek could _actually_ know about decapitations taking three swipes, not like he would have experience with it. The guy had been cooped up here for like seven years. He probably would have been about Stiles' age at that time and there had never been a recorded decapitation in Beacon Hills. Ever. Stiles would know, what with his father being sheriff and the fact that he had done a rather detailed essay on it for his history class. It might have been a little off-topic but it still won him an A in the end.

Stiles followed Derek back down to the kitchen where Chris was handing off dishes of bacon, scrambled eggs and toast to Isaac who was setting the table. Derek didn't even say anything before Chris was shoveling eggs, bacon and two pieces of toast onto a plate and handing them off without saying a thing. Stiles had a moment of indecision once Derek took his plate and started walking away from the dining room while Chris handed Stiles an identical plate. Chris jerked his head in the way that Derek had gone and Stiles somewhat reluctantly followed after him. He wouldn't have minded getting to know the others. They all knew Derek better than he did, and maybe if they put what information they had together, it might help put Stiles on the right track.

Because there was no way that someone could live with so many people and have them never know anything about him. Chris likely knew his food preferences like the back of his hand; Melissa might know about scars or trauma or something. And who knew what everyone else would know –Peter especially. But Stiles didn't have a relationship with a single person here other than Derek because he had to. Getting to know the others wouldn't hurt him in the slightest.

Derek was standing in the parlor, by the bay window, working his way through a piece of toast. Stiles stopped to stand at the other end of the window, not really wanting to breach the man's personal space. He looked down at his plain, unbuttered toast distastefully. What he would do for some jam, or peanut butter, or something that wasn't just toasted bread. He ate it anyways. As he moved onto eating his scrambled eggs, he hoped that it wasn't a common breakfast because while he didn't mind scrambled eggs he did find them exceptionally boring and they didn't rate high on his list of preferences.

"You don't have to eat out here if you don't want to," Derek said abruptly. "Just because Scott and my uncle won't show their faces if I'm there, doesn't mean you can't get to make friends with them."

"You sayin' I can't be friends with you instead?" Stiles joked.

Derek rolled his eyes. "They're easier to get along with. Once you get to know them."

Stiles shrugged. "I could have a lifetime getting to know them. I've only got three hundred and sixty-two to get to know you."

Derek smirked. "You're counting it out? It'll just get longer."

"So what?" Stiles retorted. "It'll help keep me on my toes."

"Because you need a reminder that if you fail you're stuck here until we die?"

"Will we die when you do?" Stiles asked, observing him.

"I don't know," Derek sighed.

"Didn't the witch or fairy or whoever-the-hell it was tell you _anything_?"

Derek tensed. "No," he said stiffly. "She didn't say anything."

"So it was a woman," Stiles pressed.

"Just shut up and eat," Derek growled.

"If that's how you're going to end all of our conversations, I'm gonna be as big as a whale when I leave." Because there was no if about it. Stiles would be leaving here at the end of the year.

"Only if you listen," he sniped.

"Are you saying I can't?"

"Well you don't seem to be doing a very good job of it so far."

Stiles rolled his eyes and finished off his bacon quickly. Without another word to the grumpy, obstinate Hale, he pushed off from the wall and returned his plate to the kitchen. For added measure, he washed his own dish as he glanced towards the dining room.

The table that could seat twelve had ten occupied seats. Lydia was sitting beside Allison and across from Peter, meaning the seats at the head of the table and the end of it were empty. The teenagers were laughing at something; Isaac had a humored smirk on his face, gaze lingering on Scott as the other boy stared at Allison. Boyd was chuckling and Erica covered her giggles with her hand as Lydia just smiled on. Peter's attention was between Melissa and Chris, considering they were the only adults at the table. They looked… like a family. An unusual family, perhaps, but a family nonetheless. Lydia seemed the most out of place, but compared to anyone else she was the new girl. Except now with Stiles being here, he was going to take that place –either leaving her with nothing, or pushing her into familial territory with the rest of them.

Stiles left the kitchen as soon as he was finished cleaning, grateful to get out of there. Derek was no where in sight, his dirty plate abandoned on the window sill. For all of one second, Stiles considered taking it and cleaning it before he realized how ridiculous it would be to clean up after the guy. He scoffed –Derek was an adult, he could clean up after himself just fine. The desire to clean it came from several places, one of which was that of being an only child and looking after his father and the other from the respect for the cleanliness of the house. The dirty plate, with its splatters of crumbled eggs and grease stains sitting on the pristine window sill seemed almost offensive.

Stiles walked past it and went back upstairs to the study room. He kept an eye out for the loner that was Derek Hale but he didn't see him. For which he was grateful. Because if there was one thing Stiles knew how to do, it was how to access police files he really shouldn't be able to. Being the son of the sheriff had its benefits. He pulled up all the records his father's office had on Derek Hale.

"Born May third, 1988," Derek said from behind him. "Orphaned in 2003 after mother died unexpectedly, older sister unfit considering she had no job and was barely legal. Dropped out of high school in junior year." His voice was iron hard and cold. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"I didn't know you were a Taurus?" Stiles joked weakly, slowly turning to face Derek. "I was actually looking up to see what allergies you had."

His only response was an intense red-eyed glare.

"I was born April eighth, 1996. Which makes me an Aries," he laughed uncomfortably. "Mother died in 2005. Currently attending high school."

Derek frowned, the redness slowly leeching from his eyes.

"If we could have a conversation, like normal people, this would be less awkward," Stiles advised. "I'm not really sorry, I didn't find anything. I invaded your privacy, yes, but it's not like you're forthcoming about _anything_."

"You could have asked," he growled.

"Would you have told me anything?" Stiles scoffed at Derek's silence. "I didn't think so."


	5. Mysterious Mister Hale

Chapter Five, The Mysterious Mister Hale

To say things were tense was an understatement, Stiles thought to himself. Derek had been avoiding him. Was avoiding him. Except for every night, between two and three in the morning when he would break into Stiles' room and ask for forgiveness for crimes he wouldn't talk about. Crimes if it could even be considered that. Stiles really had no idea.

He spent the three days getting more acquainted with the others and learning what he could about the enigma that was Derek Hale. The most he got was that Derek favored roasts and bacon (Chris), he wasn't a show-off and liked to keep to himself (Allison), he was an excellent kisser even though he rejected her (Erica), he liked being in control and needing to feel in control (Boyd), he was misunderstood and way too hard on himself (Melissa), he had his secrets and they were eating him alive (Isaac) and the most useless information of all was that Derek was the biggest douchebag to ever douche and he couldn't give a shit about anyone else (Scott). Peter arched his brows, proceeded to check Stiles out and then said: "I'm more interesting." Lydia had just huffed and rolled her eyes and didn't answer.

Overall, his three day vacation from Derek was wasted. Internet searches got him nothing. And when he tried to join the study sessions that Peter and Lydia spent all their time caught up in, he was disturbed to find that it was mostly them bantering over a book or two, almost like they had given up on ever getting free. At least they weren't miserable pits of despair and rage like Scott. Not that it was Scott's fault –his life sucked and he could blame it on Derek. And he did have every right to do it. He just wasn't helping anyone in the anger and despair he was keeping himself cloaked in and in the end, he would do himself more harm that way.

Day four, Stiles got up earlier than usual although it was near hellish to do so. He was running on about six hours of disturbed sleep as he snuck back downstairs and made waffles. It was his mother's recipe. He had it memorized and although it took him twice as long to make it as it usually would, due to his struggle for locating ingredients, he still made them. From scratch, just the way she used to do it. He served up a plate and made his way upstairs, towards Derek's room. His three days had also been good for learning the layout of the house.

He didn't knock, not wanting to have to endure the useless banter of how Derek didn't want to see him or whatever he would say. He opened the door to see Derek sitting up in bed, watching him warily. Stiles paused for a moment before holding the plate out to him. Derek reached out, taking it, shooting Stiles a suspicious glare before sniffing the meal.

"I didn't poison it," Stiles snapped.

Derek's lips twitched. "Thought you might have been testing out that theory, seeing if my death would release you or curse you."

Stiles scoffed, "Yeah because I'm just that badass to poison a guy with apology waffles."

"Apology waffles?"

"Yeah, something wrong with that?"

"What if I don't want the apology? What if I just want to eat the waffles?"

"It's a package deal. You eat the waffles, you accept the apology. Or you don't eat them or their apology."

"I didn't know waffles were capable of being sorry." His lip was definitely twitching, and it seemed to require extra effort from him to keep himself from smiling.

"Would you just eat the damn things already?"

Derek smirked, looking up at him. "With my hands or my teeth?"

Stiles looked at his plate and realized that he had forgotten the silverware downstairs. "Uh…"

"I'm not an animal," Derek continued, that cocky smirk glued to his face. "I at least need a fork, Stiles."

"Uh, right, of course."

Stiles ducked out of the room, fleeing back downstairs to the kitchen to grab the fork that he had forgotten before hurrying back upstairs. When he got to Derek's room, it was to see him pulling a shirt on. His plate was empty except for a small trail of syrup.

"Needed a fork, huh?" Stiles asked dryly, reaching for the plate.

Derek smirked as he tugged his shirt back down. "Well you didn't seem to mind," he teased.

"Oh come on," Stiles said, exasperated. "Really? Next time, _buddy,_ you can get your own fork. I'm not your servant."

"Unless this really is Beauty and the Beast, right?" Derek asked casually, not even making eye contact. "Because if I'm the Beast, then everyone's my servant."

"Your cursed servants," Stiles added. "And if we went with the Disney version of events, I demand that you break out into song. Like right now."

Derek arched a brow. "I don't have to listen to a servant," he said, almost smugly.

"I am so not a servant; I'm not a teacup or a singing candlestick."

"Then who would you be?"

"Clearly the Beauty. I'm the Beauty to your Beast man, we just gotta commence with the kissing and everything'll be great again, right."

Derek's other brow raised to greet the first one. "Commence with the kissing?" he repeated dryly. "I don't think it was the kiss that saved the Beast. You got your stories confused, Stiles. What kind of studying have you been doing?" He smirked as he walked past Stiles.

That, that right there was seriously unfair. And Stiles would blame his filter as being the only thing capable of causing the next scenario. He casually leaned out of Derek's bedroom.

"So that's a no to kissing? I mean it could work." It worked for Sleeping Beauty and Snow White and it would have worked for The Little Mermaid. "It's worked in the other documented cases," Stiles added with a snicker.

Those fairytales were the _only_ documented cases, unless he wanted to start putting faith in television mythology and exploring what other avenues there could be. Honestly, true love's kiss would be the easiest solution to this curse –and that wasn't saying or implying that Stiles was Derek's true love, because there was no way.

Not that Derek didn't have a great personality… but he really didn't. And Stiles didn't know near enough about him. But he could say that Derek was fit and very attractive to standards –not Stiles' standards, but the world at large and probably most of the female population. If he tidied up that scruff and maybe lost some of the growly, surly werewolf act. But his attractiveness was still pretty up there, Stiles realized.

And during his internal dialogue, thoughts churning about the attractiveness of one Hale, he never noticed that Derek had turned back and was walking back up the stairs towards him.

"It almost sounds like you want to kiss me," Derek said, his expression guarded as he watched Stiles.

"Something's better than nothing?" he laughed nervously.

He wasn't exactly averse to the idea of kissing Derek, especially in comparison to being stuck here for who-knows-how-long. And the research he had suggested that it could work. Fairytales –they had good morals and those morals were based off ancient retold stories. No one really knew how much truth was in them, or had been in them at the time. And there was no true explanation about true love's kiss after all –like, was it true love because both parties knew they were in love or was it something closer to love at first sight and soulmates and the magic would just work if it was meant to work? Maybe if he really believed it would work, but somehow he didn't think it would be that simple.

Derek stopped in front of him, eyebrow arched as he looked at him skeptically. "And you think this is going to work? Because of some Disney movies?"

"No! Because of Grimm's fairytales and Hans Christian Andersen. Kisses worked for Sleeping Beauty and Snow White and it would have worked for The Little Mermaid too, you know."

Granted, it had worked on Snow White because the piece of poisoned apple in her throat was dislodged around the time of the kiss (and not because of it) and it had worked on Sleeping Beauty because her curse was specific to that and the hundred year's aspect of her sleep had faded… There was no reason true love's kiss wouldn't have saved the mermaid, if only she had been able to attain it before she died. Disney had all the fluffier versions.

"It won't work, Stiles," Derek sighed. "It won't work for me, for us, for them."

"How do you know?" Stiles questioned. At his silence he carried on, "Have you tried it before? Do you know a reason why it wouldn't work?" He looked at Derek daringly, seeing the hesitation in his gaze.

If Derek knew it wouldn't work, he could at least explain why. So it was either a kiss or information to get out of the kiss. It wasn't like he could make Derek do either, but they _had_ to do something. Things had been at a stalemate for far too long.

Derek moved abruptly, catching Stiles completely off guard as he pressed his lips against Stiles' chastely for less than two seconds before he was pulling back. "Told you," he said quietly, doing a cursory glance at his hands before he went to turn away.

"You can't just-just do that!" he hissed, staring at Derek in shock.

Derek paused, peering at him worriedly. "I thought… that was what you wanted? To see if it would work?"

"Not-not like that!" Stiles squeaked out, turning away from him.

"I thought… I'm sorry." He walked away briskly, leaving Stiles alone in the doorway.

It wasn't that he hadn't wanted Derek to kiss him, wasn't it? He _had_. He had wanted Derek to kiss him, but that was entirely based on an experiment that might break the curse or to force information out of him. But instead, he got nothing out of the man. Except a kiss and some sinking feeling that was churning disappointment and guilt into an ugly combination of bitter regret. He shoved the feelings aside. No progress was some progress, right? Process of elimination. He stared after Derek.

So what if his first kiss was totally just taken by a man at least five years older than him? It didn't mean anything. There were probably a lot of people who had first kisses who were less than ideal. At least Stiles could say that he had asked for his. Although he _had_ imagined it involving soft, non-stubbly lips and a feminine figure a little closer opposed to the slightly dry, stubbly lips and a body that was clearly off-limits.

Stiles was mostly in shock. He had expected Derek to cave and tell him something, not to kiss him. His virgin lips were no longer as virginal as the rest of him. That was okay, he guessed. It wasn't like there was something else he could do about it. And after pushing Derek to that point, he totally shut the guy down. With a guilty sigh he headed down the hall to find Derek.

"Have you cleared this relationship with the PETA yet?" Peter drawled, leaning against his doorway smugly. "I bet they'd have some strong words for you."

Stiles stared at him, horror and shock bubbling their way to the surface. He felt the hair on the back on his neck standing on edge. The guy was seriously creepy. His arrogant smirk combined with his narrowed, suspicious eyes really didn't do much to help with his appearance either.

"I mean really. Was that really "consent"?" Peter smirked. "Could he consent to that? That was practically extortion," he shook his head disapprovingly. "If you wanted him that badly, you should have at least followed through with it."

Stiles didn't bother to dignify him with a response, simply flipped him off as he hurried back downstairs. He didn't want to think about what Peter had seen, or why Peter was blatantly calling Derek an animal. It didn't matter. Family spat, right? Stiles felt even more reassured by his decision to research alone and give Lydia and Peter whatever space they required. It wasn't like Derek was an animal or anything; he was a human being underneath the extra hair, fangs and claws. Derek never asked for this –except, there was that niggling doubt in the back of his mind.

Stiles knew nothing about Derek. At all. Other than that he ate breakfast without silverware, had a kickass body… was unfortunately cursed. But Stiles didn't know about why the curse had been placed on the guy and until he did, he wasn't sure just how much he could trust Derek. That was hard. What if the guy had done something to deserve it? What if he had killed someone? It didn't mean he deserved this –whatever he had done –this was punishment to more people than just Derek. Everyone Derek tried to help, everyone who stumbled onto this property got saddled with the same curse. It wasn't fair to them. Maybe it was meant to make Derek suffer more, but that didn't make it anymore fair. This curse was wrong and unjust. If Derek had even done something to deserve it.

Stiles found him in the basement after nearly an hour and a half spent searching for him. Derek was doing pull-ups on the entryway of the middlemost cell, his back to Stiles. This left all the more for Stiles to ogle, considering somewhere along the way the lycanthropic man had lost his shirt. And actually, if he was actively looking for it, the teenager spotted it hanging two cells down. He considered breaking the pleasurable silence as he watched Derek routinely pull himself up and lower himself back down, the breathlessness of it making him realize that Derek probably did this sort of stuff _frequently_.

"So this is what you do in your free time?" Stiles blurted out.

Derek dropped to his feet and in testament to his physique, Stiles couldn't tell whether he had dropped from surprise or whether it was a controlled drop. "And I see this is what you do," he snarked, glancing at Stiles. "Stalking isn't healthy, Stiles."

"And neither is obsessively exercising," he retorted. "And I was _not_ stalking you. Just… looking for you. Besides, I can hardly stalk you inside your own house."

They would run into each other everywhere. Derek's house may be a mansion, but still, it wasn't that big. Stiles could go out shopping for groceries in Beacon Hills and run into eight people he knew, easy. Derek's house could probably hold twenty people and there were only about ten staying here. Running into Derek in his house could hardly be constituted as stalking. Although if that ever made it to a court, in any sense with any person, it would be really interesting to see what the legal ramifications would be once everyone got over the hysteria of it. They might not classify it as stalking either; probably something along the lines of unlawful confinement if that was more suited to the details of the case.

"You found me," he ground out flatly, snatching a towel from a nearby cell and wiping his face off with it. He did a quick rub over his chest and back before grabbing his shirt and pulling it off.

"So… not what I expected these cells were used for," Stiles responded, trying not to seem too distracted by Derek's muscular body. He felt so weak, and tiny, in comparison to the buff, broad shouldered man in front of him.

"What did you think they were for?" Derek arched a brow at him.

"Uh… sex dungeon? Y'know with sex slaves and the chains and the whole shebang. Thought that might've been your kink…"

Derek's eyebrow twitched –and that was either some impressive muscle control or… or a lot of rage judging by the look in the older man's eyes. "And what changed your mind?" His tone disguised the irritation seamlessly, Stiles had to admit.

"Uh, you know… that you held my dad down here. And his clothes were on and um, you didn't keep me down there and no one really mentioned it…"

"They're for the full moon," Derek said tightly.

"Oh my god!" Stiles shouted excitedly. "You _are_ werewolves!"

"We're cursed," he corrected with a weary sigh. "Peter, Lydia and I are the only ones with enough control to survive the night. The others have to be locked up. Especially Scott and Erica. This is the hardest on them."

"Whoa. What kind of… what do you mean?"

Derek sighed heavily. "It's not a big deal, don't worry about it."

"Excuse me! It so is a big deal. I _live_ here now. You can't just arbitrarily keep me in the dark like this!" he scowled.

"Uh yes, I can, actually," he growled. "This is _my_ house, in case you've forgotten."

"Oh how could I?" he sniped. "I'm the one stuck here. This isn't home to me."

"And you think it is to me?!" the werewolf roared.

Stiles flew back from him, seeing the red in Derek's eyes brighten. He stumbled back towards the stairs, tentatively peeking out towards Derek. His clawed hands clutched the bars of the cell as he pressed his face against the cool metal.

"I didn't mean to lose my temper," he said quietly.

Stiles jumped when he heard the footsteps behind him, whirling to see Isaac walking towards him. He flashed him warm puppy eyes and gestured for them to go back upstairs. Stiles looked back over at Derek, then to Isaac. He seemed to understand what it meant though, or chose to ignore it; it was hard to tell considering he repeated the same gesture again. Reluctantly Stiles went after him. Only when they were on the last step did another feral roar thunder through the house as they heard metal squealing and more growling. Isaac shut the door quickly and the sound was abruptly cut off.

Stiles stared in surprise. "What the hell was that about?"

"That was Derek," Isaac supplied unhelpfully. He smirked at the look on Stiles' face. "This happens sometimes, has been happening more frequently though. It freaks him out. It's like… he just gets so angry sometimes, it explodes. He's _never_ hurt anyone before," he added quickly at Stiles' stricken look. "He'll be okay."

"Yeah, but are we going to be?"

"He would never hurt us," Isaac replied confidently.

Stiles exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. "So this… this happens a lot?"

"No, well…" Isaac hesitated, looking towards the steel door. "I mean, it didn't use to happen. When we were younger. When he was. It wasn't so bad. He kind of made things fun for us, as best he could. I appreciated his efforts. But as he got older, he started to get these…" he paused, shrugging, "attacks, I guess you could say. Of rage and anger and he'd just do his best to demolish whatever he could get his hands on.

"Between Chris and Melissa, they managed to set up that room to be Derek-proof. Not just for him of course. As he got those sorts of attacks, typically just before the full moon, we started getting them too. It's-it's like we're more animal than human then," Isaac frowned sadly. "Things just keep getting worse as this drags on."

"That's perfect!" Stiles exclaimed, hugging Isaac tightly. "Thank you –that –that really helps a lot!"

He didn't bother waiting to see Isaac's confused expression as he raced back upstairs to the study he had been using. He booted the computer up. More animal than human. Wasn't there a Greek myth about that? What if this was just an altered version of it? Some evil sorceress slowly turning them all into animals –a little bit drawn out and infinitely more complicated that Circe's simple enchantment. She had turned a crew of men into pigs or something. Stiles typed it in and let the Internet work its magic for him.

Somehow, what was just meant to be a brief five minute search turned into an all-nighter on a nearly empty stomach. At midnight, right on the dot, Derek stumbled into the room. He was dirt streaked and sweaty, dark circles under his eyes while bruises were scattered across his forearms.

Aiming for wit, Stiles managed a weak semblance of a smile. "Did you beat those chains up? Soften them up some?"

Derek half knelt, half fell to his knees at Stiles' side. He picked Stiles' hand up in his own, looking up at him with red eyes that were slowly fading.

"Do you forgive me?" he asked hoarsely.

"Of course," Stiles mumbled, smiling at him. "It wasn't a big deal, you didn't scare me. In fact, I think I have some answers that might help you out."

Derek sighed, drawing back, the human features returning to their beastly quality as he dragged himself back to his feet. "Yeah, tomorrow. Goodnight." He walked away, not even lingering to hear Stiles' soft, "Night Derek."

* * *

_Apology waffles for everyone! :3 _


	6. Magical Malady

Chapter Six, Magical Malady

The Circe Theory seemed really possible at this point, Stiles realized as the sun crawled over the horizon. In Homer's _Odyssey_ she had strangely docile lions and wolves. That could have been werewolves. Maybe they were so far gone with the curse though, after having spent a decade or more there that they were eventually turned into wolves. If Isaac was right and the longer they all stayed here, the more animalistic they became, then it was entirely possible. However things didn't turn out so great for Odysseus –considering his crew was transformed into useless, squealing pigs. Only with Hermes' divine intervention on behalf of Athena were they able to save Odysseus and his crew, which resulted in leaving Odysseus on the deserted island with the sorceress Circe. And _that_ was only after he had her swear on the gods and goddesses that she wouldn't take his manhood. So the solution to this particular version was to… trick the witch with resistant herbs and then sleep with her?

Well, if that were to be the case, then maybe someone knew of the herb. The sun was at it's zenith as Stiles hunted through scientific and botanical websites before he found a name that listed on both sites. Deaton. Moly had allowed the men to resist Circe's potions and allowed the crew to revert back to their original forms. Stiles spent less than five minutes composing the email before firing it off to this Deaton fellow. Maybe they would get lucky. He might have an idea of what the moly plant was –some suspected that it was a snowdrop but that didn't exactly seem likely. The enchanter's nightshade did seem more likely, however it was also probably poisonous. It didn't matter, it was out of his hands for now.

He pulled back from the desk with a heavy sigh. His stomach gave a loud, indignant growl. Stiles glanced at the clock on the screen, shocked to see that it was already the middle of the afternoon.

"Have you eaten at all?" Scott asked, lingering in the doorway. He held a tray of food in his hands.

"Uh, not today, no…"

"Good," he replied with a grin. "Mom figured you hadn't so she sent me up here to eat with you."

Scott didn't come upstairs very often, even less when there was a chance that he might run into Derek.

"Well, thanks," he replied.

"No problem," he grinned. "So you've met Allison before, right? Isn't she the sweetest?"

"Totally," Stiles said absently, distractedly lifting his utensils to his hands before devouring his meal.

"She's so beautiful, especially with that smile… and her _eyes_…"

"Have you been in love with her for long?"

"Since the first day I saw her!" he enthused. "Her dad isn't so cool with us though so… and there's not exactly a lot of privacy…"

Stiles made a sound of agreement and he polished off the rest of his dinner with less dignity than he had wolfed it down with. Scott laughed brightly. And somehow, it became a routine between the two of them. They never talked about Derek though, or about how Scott felt about the whole situation. Scott asked a lot about the outside world and what he had heard from his mother and Chris about the way things were outside the manor. Stiles felt bad for him –this curse, whatever it was, wasn't fair to anyone.

Two days later, Stiles finally had his answer from Deaton explaining about the herbs and how to properly use them. Thankfully the guy wasn't a weirdo or a creep. Apparently he had a masters degree in mythology and fairy tale studies (seriously, who knew that was even a real degree?) and he discussed the properties of each herb he sent along in how it would be used according to each animal-cursed myth or story it centered around. Stiles saved the email. A week later the mail had arrived with the half a dozen herbs, which Chris was courteous enough to bring to him. Although he didn't really seem very willing about the whole thing…

That lunch hour as he was busy preparing the herbs per Deaton's instructions with Scott (who had turned out to be rather handy to have around) when Isaac showed up with lunch.

"D-Derek sent lunch up," he stumbled over the words, staring in shock.

"What? You've met Scott before haven't you?" Stiles asked with a grin.

Isaac blushed, like actually _blushed_ and ducked his head –and oh, oh, ohhhhh –some stray curls flopping to hide his eyes. "Um yeah, here," he put the tray down quickly.

Scott was still going over the preparations for the snowdrop plant, frowning in concentration at the instructions.

"Hey do you want to join us Isaac?" Stiles asked with a grin. "Could always use more help."

"What _are_ you doing?" he asked, peering over Scott to look at the six different types of plants in front of him.

"Experimenting," Stiles replied cheerily as he grabbed a plate of elegantly cut clubhouse.

"With flowers?"

"They're herbs," Scott corrected automatically. Stiles had been pestering him about what distinguished herbs from flowers –it was very important to know.

"They might help Derek," Stiles answered as he took a bite of his sandwich.

"How?"

"They're curse breakers," Scott said, flashing Isaac a dimpled grin. "Stiles did a bunch of research and he got in contact with this guy Deaton and these herbs might help. Like they did in each of their stories, where they resisted the curse or turned the curse back against the spell-caster."

"So we might have figured this thing out?"

"Hopefully," Stiles said with an awkward laugh. He wasn't going to be pessimistic about this mess. This could do it. There was every reason for it to work and no reason for it to do nothing.

It took them three quarters of an hour with all three of them filling out the preparations for each herb before they were done. A day and a half later, Stiles dragged Derek into the study room that was overrun with herbs.

"You really think this will work?" he groused, staring at the plants in disbelief. "Some flowers can magically break this curse?"

"They have before," Stiles replied confidently, grabbing the snowdrop first.

"Like the kiss was supposed to?" he quipped gruffly.

Stiles froze for a second before getting back to his feet. He shoved the flower at Derek. "Eat this."

He eyed the plant with distaste. "All of it?"

"Every last leaf," the teenager shot back.

It could totally work. It had to work, to at least do something. And, it turned out, it did do something. For a grand two hours, Derek walked around like a regular human. The wolfy features receded and he was human. Stiles recorded the information down. He ignored the way the whole house seemed to reek of disappointment when the evening rolled by and Derek was back to his grouchy, unapproachable self. The next day they tried the enchanter's nightshade, which turned out to be a bad idea.

Derek was sick for the day with a high fever, chills, vomiting and muscle aches. The flu. When Stiles woke up in the middle of the night to find an over-heated, overgrown man hovering over him, he flailed. Derek tripped, falling gracelessly onto Stiles and knocking the air out of the younger man.

With a breathless, weak, "Forgive me?" Derek promptly passed out.

Stiles spent the next hour fighting with his unmoving and unforgiving body until he had Derek safely tucked into bed beside him. "You need to lose some muscle," Stiles breathed out bitterly. He exhaled shakily. "Jesus, Derek."

He set his hand on his forehead and snuck out of bed to grab a cool cloth to try and keep his temperature down. Stiles changed the cloth another three times, even as the sun was cresting the horizon. Somewhere between then and mid-morning, he fell asleep hunched over his bed and looking after a very sickly Derek.

When he woke up though, it was to find himself in bed. Alone. The sun was blinding in its vengeance and he yawned loudly as he stumbled out of bed and right into the too-familiar muscular chest of one Derek Hale. Seriously, no one here was more muscular. Did they have a competition going on or something for most buff?

"Can I help you?" Derek asked with a lazy smirk.

Stiles jerked back. "Yeah. I need to feed you another herb."

Derek scowled. "No."

"Yes! Come on, it wasn't so bad the first time."

"Yeah. It could get worse. What if the next one kills me?"

"Well then my theory will be tested…"

"You do want to test it!" he growled. "I knew you did!"

"No pain, no gain, right?" Stiles asked uncertainly. "We gotta try something."

"I've never been sick a day in my life –"

"Well see, there you go. You were due one illness. Come on Derek, trust me?" he batted his eyelashes teasingly.

Derek rolled his eyes. "Fine. Try me. Just don't do that again."

Stiles dragged him to the study. "No time like the present!"

He shoved the next herb at him. Derek eyed it critically. "Is this one going to kill me or turn me into a wild animal?" he growled.

"It's a cure, not a curse," he replied carefully. "Try it?"

"No. I'm not going to let you kill me."

"I'm sorry about yesterday!" Stiles growled. "But you have to try! If not for yourself then for everyone here."

"What about me life?" he demanded crossly. "I've never been sick a day in my life –I'm practically resistant to illness and you throw this-this _flower_ at me–"

"The first time was great!" he countered desperately. "You know it and I know it. You were _human_ for two hours!"

"A lot of good two hours is," he snarled.

"It's better than nothing! Goddammit Derek! Do you _want _to be stuck here? Do you want us all to suffer?! Because that's what it looks like –you won't even try. I have a _father_ to return to. They all have homes! And memories!"

"What do you want from me?!" Derek roared back, stepping into Stiles' personal space.

"I want you to try! To actually try and get yourself out of this mess –whatever it is."

"You think I haven't before?" he snarled, his eyes flashing red.

"I think you gave up too early. Besides all of that, I'm not Scott or Peter or anyone else here and I _am_ going home to see my father by the end of the year. If I have to rip your claws out and lead you by the fang to do it –I'll do it. Or you could just _tell_ me and let me help you."

"I'm not talking about it," Derek growled, stepping back. "Not that."

"Then you've doomed us all!" he shouted. "Why don't you just kill me now?! It'll be a lot quicker and a hell of a lot easier!"

Stiles meant it, in the same way that he didn't mean it at all. If they were doomed here, all of them, they were going to sink together. Derek had a certain responsibility for all of them. If he wouldn't try, then he was screwing things up for everyone forced to live with him.

Derek stared at him, the red fading to blue-grey in its absence. "It's not easy," he stated carefully. "I don't want to talk about it. But I will try that herb."

It was as much of a peace offering as he was going to get. Stiles smiled, warm and bright. He handed the herb over to Derek, who eyed it with distaste before chowing down. He turned human instantly. But it only lasted an hour, and when it wore off Derek was left with a rash. The next herb was worse. Immediate allergic reaction that thankfully didn't kill him. With a scowl and a threat, Derek promised that he would kill Stiles if anything went wrong again. The next herb worked a little differently than expected. Derek was neither sick nor human from it. In fact, it didn't seem to do anything at all. Stiles recorded all the information down again before handing the last herb to Derek.

Instantly, heat suffused into his cheeks and he darted out of the room. Stiles spent the day looking for him, but he couldn't find him no matter how he looked.

That night, however, was an interesting experience. Unique, most certainly. Because Stiles woke up at god-knows-what-hour to find himself staring into the very human face of Derek Hale. Literally. Stiles was lying on his back, under a thin silken sheet, staring into Derek's eyes. His automatic flail reaction was muted when his legs tangled in the sheets and he discovered that Derek was literally right over him, his hands pinning Stiles' to the sheets.

"U-uh hey Derek… this is awfully, uh, intimate."

Derek swallowed tightly –Stiles could see the way his Adam's apple bobbed in the darkness. Stiles shifted, aware of how it felt like a furnace between the two of them.

"Y-you're burning up, man. You-you okay?"

"Fine," Derek breathed out, his head steadily moving closer to Stiles'. "I'm perfect." There was a hoarseness to his voice that could only be described as being husky.

"I-I think that, ah, herb did something to you."

"Stiles," Derek groaned, pressing his nose against the side of his neck, nuzzling him. "Stiles, forgive me," he husked as he pressed his hips shockingly close to Stiles'.

"Derek!" he squeaked out in surprise, trying to move aside.

It seemed that Derek had other ideas, though. Based on the fact that his gentle, stubbly nuzzles had changed to lazy, open-mouthed kisses along his neck. Not that it was unpleasant, but shocking, and the tantalizing gyrations of Derek's hips were equally distracting.

"Y-you haven't even bought me dinner yet," he choked out.

"I brought you breakfast," he murmured, shifting until they were pressing against each other. "My chef cooks your meals every day."

"That doesn't count," he gasped out. "D-Derek thi-this is a bad idea."

Derek only hummed in response, a sound that was closer to a groan than it was to a musical noise. "Forgive me," he repeated.

"Y-you'll regret this in the morning," he moaned helplessly. "I will too. Derek, come on, please… think about this."

"I have," he growled, his lazy kisses changing to pinpricks of teeth as he nipped carefully with all too-human teeth.

He had a protest ready, completely prepared for a solid argument until Derek ground his hips down deliberately, rocking forward against Stiles. And even then, when he struggled against Derek's hands in order to encourage him to change his mind, Derek's lips pressed against his own and he flicked his tongue a couple of times until there was no room for thought in Stiles' brain. Derek was impressive and talented and he felt amazing; from the teasing roll of his hips, and the lack of sorely needed contact to his skilled tongue and stubble. Derek shifted and before Stiles could question it, the silken sheets that had been resistant to allowing friction between their overeager bodies was gone.

It was all Derek there, beneath the thin layer of cotton briefs –just as Stiles was completely there, under the layer of his cotton pajamas. The friction was delightful, sending waves of pleasure and a chorus of groans from each man as their hips pressed together and they writhed together in passion and lust. Awareness came fleetingly, most of it was centered on the way Derek felt against him –hard and firm, pre-come dampening the thin material that divided them. He could hear Derek moan, feel the way the sound rumbled from within his chest. Distantly he realized his hands were free, only when he felt how Derek's were gliding along his ribs while the other reached between them to wrap around their erections more intimately than Stiles knew possible. Which wasn't saying a lot, since Stiles was the only one accustomed to having touched himself.

"Yes," he breathed out, arching into Derek's touch eagerly.

His breath hitched as he rocked his hips in time with Derek's ministrations, on the verge of bliss, ready to tumble off the summit and dive into the heavenly euphoria that he knew was waiting there. There was something more intense about it, the way he could feel Derek pressed against him and how he was working them to that brink simultaneously.

And then, abruptly, it was over. And not in the good kind of way. He was achingly hard and heaving breathy gasps and moans as he melted under Derek when the older man pulled off him. Blue-grey eyes clouded over with red, where stubble had once been there was now a lot more facial hair –and Stiles could recognize abject mortification when he saw it on another person. However, this was his first time seeing it on another person, but it was nonetheless easy to spot. Especially seeing as Derek all but ran from the room.

Humiliation and confusion welled up, somehow finding their way to outrage as he lay in bed, breathless, hard and alone. The clock on the nightstand condescendingly flashed 3:00am when his eyes met its impassive, nonchalant reflection.


	7. Dreaming Is Believing

Chapter Seven, Dreaming is Believing

He had an abrupt flash of consciousness forcing him awake to see a dark shadow over him. Stiles jerked, but strong hands shoved him back against his bed. He opened his mouth to shout out for help, his father's name instinctually on his lips before the shadow attempted to shove something in his mouth. He snapped his jaw shut so quickly he cold feel his teeth jar against each other uncomfortably. Attempting to roll over turned out to be futile with that impossibly strong grip on his shoulders keeping him bedridden –he jerked his legs back, shoving at his attacker. It was a moment of intense struggle as the clawed hand left his mouth, scooping his legs together before crushing them against the bed with their body weight. What Stiles didn't account for was their speed, on top of the strength, because he had just enough time to inhale and formulate the first syllable of "help" before there was something stringy and dry being shoved back into his mouth.

No amount of coughing, squirming or resistance was enough to stop his attacker from shoving the food into his mouth. Stiles would have spat it out but the bastard was as cunning as he was quick, pinching his nose off. Stiles spat out the plant, the bitter taste still coating his tongue but his attacker shoved it back into his mouth easily. It wasn't like Stiles had much of a choice. He chewed and swallowed reluctantly, only to have darkness swallow him back up.

When Stiles came to, he was somewhere unfamiliar. He was lying in a heap in what looked like a spacious nursery_. _

_There was a crib in the center of the room, bathed with sunlight. Above the crib was a mobile, it had a full moon and around it were four adult wolves, two of which were howling, and there were three cubs running around them. It was adorable. _

Stiles got to his feet, more clumsy and awkward than even he was used to. He froze when he turned, realizing that he wasn't alone

–_there was a young toddler standing on her tiptoes, peering into the crib with a bright grin on her face. Stiles glanced over to see a small infant there, a few strands of black hair on the top of his head. Best guess said it was a baby boy though, considering he was surrounded by a tide of blue. The little girl giggled, waving her fingers at the infant._

And suddenly a sea of darkness was swallowing Stiles up only to spit him back out shortly after. It was a rough, unforgiving, churning sea that threw him far and wide before he crashed onto smooth tile with an agonized yelp as the wind was knocked out of him.

He recognized the parlor of Hale Manor.

_There was a middle aged woman sitting by the fire, practically bowed over a letter in her hands as her shoulders shook. _

_"What is it?" Peter asked worriedly, moving to stand beside her. _

_"David… they-they have David," she whispered, peering up at him. _

_"Shit," Peter swore softly, moving to stand beside her, rubbing a comforting hand along her back. _

_"I hadn't thought they would take notice quite like this," she mumbled despondently. _

_"I know… I didn't either. We can make it through this."_

_"What do I tell the kids? What am I supposed to say?"_

_"The truth," Peter offered wearily. "There's no other option."_

_"Derek's too young," she started to protest._

_"He's mature for his age and he has us. It'll be okay."_

_She touched her stomach gingerly. "This changes everything…"_

_"We're good at adapting. Come on Talia, we… we don't know anything for sure yet."_

The darkness swarmed around him and Stiles was seriously beginning to wonder what the hell was going on –he wasn't in Harry Potter. What the fuck was going on here? It felt like he was going to get whiplash soon if this didn't stop soon. He stumbled as he landed this time, tripping down a flight of stairs to land in the parlor again. No one took notice of him. He sat up, hissing in pain.

_There was a little boy there, no more than ten years old with messy hair standing by his mother. At his side had to be his sister, a few years older with reddish hair. Peter was standing to the side, a faceless woman beside him_.

Stiles frowned at that, staring as though he could discern her identity but he couldn't.

_"Derek, Laura," she began haltingly. "Your father… he's… he's not coming home." She swallowed tightly, keeping the tears back just barely._

With a shock Stiles realized that this had been another time jump. If what he was seeing was true, anyways, then he had jumped sometime ahead of what he had last seen. Maybe it had something to do with whatever his attacker had given him. In which case this had to be the weirdest acid trip in the world.

_"They took him?" Laura asked quietly, scrunching her face up adorably. "Didn't they?"_

_Their mother –Talia? –nodded warily. _

_"Are you going to go away too?" Derek asked. _

_Stiles watched as her resolve cracked. "I have to, baby. I don't want to. I'm so sorry."_

_"What are we gonna do without you?" Laura pressed. "Cora's too little to be alone. You said so yourself!"_

_"We don't have a choice," Peter snapped. "Your father isn't the only one missing in case you've forgotten."_

_The woman beside him stepped forward, her hand settling over his shoulder in reassurance. Peter turned away with a silent huff. _

_"And if we don't go you guys will be in danger. I can't let that happen. I won't be leaving Cora alone either. Auntie – staying with you." _

Stiles jumped at that –it wasn't natural, it was as though the woman's existence had been erased or something.

_The faceless woman stepped forward at that, kneeling down in front of the children. Judging by the rapt attention of the pre-pubescent Laura and younger Derek, the woman –their aunt? –was speaking. _

_"…rine will still be here too. She's a great tutor."_

_"Yeah so we don't have to worry about our education," Laura growled. "Only about whether our family is going to come back."_

_"Laura!" Talia barked with a stern glare. "I have to leave tomorrow. So does your uncle. I'm sorry it has to be like this."_

Stiles yelped as he was deposited into a new year entirely. And to his displeasure he was stuck in a stuffy room holding Derek and an unfamiliar woman who seemed to be going over homework or something. Impatient with how out of control he felt, he unconcernedly walked out and explored the manor. It was different to the present time –it was brighter, for one, like the happiness of the occupants had seeped into the walls. Some objects had been moved around, many of the rooms had been shifted around it seemed. The room that Stiles knew was Derek's –in his own time –was a young girl's room. Stiles' own room seemed to be Derek's current one.

He stumbled across Laura in the library. She flicked her hair over her shoulder with a sigh as she glanced over the letter in her hands. Stiles ran towards her in fear that if he was too slow he would miss out on what the contents of the letter said.

March 28, 2005

_Dearest Laura,_

_Katherine's advice was not badly given. Indeed the Argents have welcomed us quite warmly. Please tell her they send their regards. I know you don't trust her, but she has done nothing to deserve these suspicious. The Argents have said they would be happy to let us stay for as long as needed. Gerard would like to see his daughter though, so if you could pass the word on? I think the man's ill but he does hide it well from the rest of his family. _

_We found the remains of David, today. I'm afraid this must be the worst way for you to learn of it, but I can't risk being overheard. Your uncle will take this letter and send it to you as soon as he can. I don't think the Alphas will pursue us any longer as we never gave in. Peter killed the last of them today. It won't be long until we're home._

_I know this seems cruel, but could you not tell Derek just yet? I want to surprise him that we're coming home with all this good news. He doesn't write me back anymore. But I can't blame him for that. I have a lot to remedy between us, all of us. _

_How is your aunt doing? I can't wait to be home again. I think Peter's even missing it at this point. We're going to stay another two days, to recuperate. Also to make sure that we have dealt with all the Alphas. I refuse to lead any of them back home. I hope you understand. I've told this to your brother too, but I don't think he'll take the news as well as you. _

_If it's not too much trouble, knock some sense into the boy._

_XOXOXO, Talia Hale._

Laura's shaky exhale drew Stiles' attention back to her as she pulled out an article from the newspaper.

WEEKLY HILLS NEWS

_NINE CONFIRMED DEAD, ONE CRITICAL CONDITION AFTER FIRE_

_April 12, 2005_

_Written by Miranda Talbot_

_"April Fool's Day joke gone wrong," say authorities. "It's the only thing that makes sense about this case –nothing." Early last week there was smoke reported at the Argent property where their guests were staying. By the time the Beacon Hills fire department had arrived, the blaze was already out of control. The fire continued to burn on late into the night with their expert intervention and they came across Peter Hale –the only survivor –badly burned a few miles from the fire in the undergrowth. Peter is currently in critical condition at Beacon Hills Memorial. The Argent property has thirty acres to its name, of which is private property. _

_"I didn't even know they had guests," recalled one neighbour. "They're very friendly people, I just hadn't been aware there was anyone staying. I can't imagine what they're going through. Simply awful."_

_Authorities have been able to contact Christopher Argent, son of the property owner Gerard. "I wasn't aware that was father was hosting any company," he responded. "Last I heard from my father he was going out on a hunting trip with my sister and they won't be back until next week."_

_Authorities are looking to contact Gerard and Kate Argent about the fire. It is unknown whether they were involved or not. Witnesses reported seeing them leave the Sunday before the fire and no one has seen them since. If you have any information please contact the Beacon Hills Police Department immediately. _

When Stiles pulled away he was in an entirely different room. Derek was standing there –not the young Derek he had been seeing flashes of, but Derek-as-he-knew-him. Scowl and eyebrows and all.

"No," he growled, whirling to face Stiles. "No. You can't see this."

"I-I don't have control of this!" he yelped as the ground beneath his feet seemed to fall out.

Freefalling was not a feeling that Stiles was accustomed to nor was it one he liked when there was no end in sight. Derek was falling with him, directly across from him, panic sweeping across his features.

"Stop it!" Stiles cried desperately. "Just let me see it! Whatever it is! I swear it doesn't matter, it won't change anything!"

"It'll change everything!" he bellowed.

"We could be trapped in here or I could die! You could die! We could both fucking die Derek –now is _not_ the time for your bullshit!"

Abruptly they landed. It was painless and uncomfortable, disorienting as Stiles stumbled back onto his feet. He still felt dizzy, like the world was spinning around him as he fell. Derek got to his feet, shooting Stiles a glower and the emptiness around them opened up into Derek's bedroom where a much younger, less scowl-y Derek sat beside his much older tutor.

_Kate Argent laughed at something he said and reached over, brushing his hair back tenderly. The teenaged Derek blushed, but he didn't duck away shyly, instead turning towards her as the two kissed._

Beside him the present Derek snarled out furiously and the moment shattered before them. Just as abruptly Stiles found himself crashing onto the parlor floor with Derek.

_"Happy seventeenth Derek," Kate laughed, strutting over to him._

_A younger, somber looking Derek froze, looking up at her in fright. "K-Kate?" As quick as that, his reaction changed to anger as he launched himself at her. _

_She laughed gaily as Derek unexplainably soared past her and tumbled against the landing. It didn't stop him from getting back on his feet, blood trickling down from his nose and lip. _

_"Why are you here?" he growled, watching her guardedly. "The police want to talk to you, you know. You have a lot of things to answer for."_

_"Like your family's death?" she giggled. "I don't have to answer for that, kid. It isn't my problem."_

_"Wh-what do you mean?"_

Stiles winced at the hope in Derek's voice, the sheer hope. Beside him, his present Derek had his back to the scene and was standing as straight and still as a statue. This was not going to end nicely. Not that Stiles had ever expected it to end in any other way.

_"I didn't do anything! It was all my father, you know how he is." She pouted at that, flattering her eyes comically. "He just gets these ideas sometimes. And I couldn't stop him! I've spent the last month hunting him down, and I finally found him. For you. I know how much it would mean to you."_

It was painful to watch the way Derek believed her. Stiles wanted to turn away, but he found that he was unable. Beside him, Derek dropped to his knees.

_"Oh my god! You ate that right up!" She laughed. "You're so fucking _dumb_ Derek. I took some gasoline and I doused the place with it while they were having dinner with my dad. Your uncle would have died if he hadn't thought something was weird –I threw a match and the place _lit up_ like you wouldn't believe. Ah, god it was gorgeous. So then I went out back and met up with dear old Dad and we went for a nice hunting trip. And now here I am."_

_Derek stared at her, frozen in place. "W-what?" he stuttered weakly. _

_Kate scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "You think I was interested in you? Wrong. You have got to be the least interesting person on the planet. And your emotional range is worse than a teaspoon, you know. It's pathetic, really."_

_"W-why?" his voice cracked and he ducked his head shamefully._

_"Why the hell not?" she asked blithely. "Your mom was a bitch." She reached into her leather pocket, pulling out a key. "I needed one fucking book, it really wasn't much to ask." As she spoke, she spun the key around her finger idly. "But no, she said that area was off limits." Abruptly she let go, the key flying towards Derek –he caught it one handed, staring at her in alarm._

_"Oh don't worry Derek, babe," Kate cajoled. "I know you said you would get it, but I couldn't wait that long."_

_"Yo-you only asked… just… I was waiting for her to come home."_

_"I told you to write that letter," Kate sneered. "But no. You had too much pride for that, didn't you? Now look at where we are."_

_Derek jerked to look back towards her; the hurt across his face was branded there like a slap. His eyes took on a glassy sheen as tears threatened to win the battle against his will. _

_"You're a monster," she sang. "A terrifying, ugly little monster Derek. I mean really, you got your whole family killed. Because you couldn't even ask for a key. And you know what? I think there's only one way to deal with your kind of monster. _

_"Human on the outside, monstrous on the inside. Let the wilde beast come out to play in moonlight's shadow, until thy thirtieth birthday or death befalls. Should one of kind heart forgive your wretched soul, they must suffer your hideous hide until you forgive yourself. Ask every night after midnight's bell for forgiveness until you can ask no more –then ask yourself. Thus I give you your just desserts –monster on the inside to be the monster outside, from dusk to dusk shall you be a wolf-man begging forgiveness for your sins. None shall leave once they set foot on Hale'd ground until my price has been met."_

_Derek screamed, dropping into the fetal position as convulsions wracked his small, lithe body._

_Kate rolled her eyes. "If I could, I would let death be your only escape. It's all you deserve. Fucking spells."_

_As Derek writhed in agony, Kate walked back out of the Hale Manor, her high heels clicking across the smooth tile._

Stiles gaped in horror. He had a million questions on his mind, and one burning statement but Derek waved them away with a flick of his hand and suddenly a different kind of darkness enveloped them. It was more natural. They barely stumbled, fumbling in the underbrush. Derek grabbed his arm, dragging him ahead.

"Where are we?" he asked in annoyance. This endless blast of memory was exhausting.

"Not in my head," Derek bit out. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters! How are we outside?!"

"It has to be someone else's memory –probably Peter."

"Peter?"

"He shoved something in my mouth and I woke up here," he admitted.

"Someone attacked me too," Stiles gushed. "It must've –maybe it was one of the herbs?"

They hit a clearing abruptly that stumped Stiles into silence.

_"You idiot!" Peter roared, shoving Derek back. _

_Derek let himself fall, hitting the ground hard. He turned away from his uncle's burning gaze._

_"You let them die! For some whore! And now you involve me in your mess?" he laughed mirthlessly. "You want me to say I forgive you? I fucking well don't. I lost my family, I lost _everything!_ I was there, Derek. I heard them scream and cry and beg until there was nothing left. I could smell them dying, you idiot! And you spent all that time fucking around with some homicidal bitch who killed them!"_

_"Uncle Peter, please," Derek whimpered. "I didn't- I didn't know."_

_"You deserve this. It's your mess. But I'll do one for you. I have until midnight? I'll kill the bitch." Peter walked away._

And just like that, they were pulled into another memory that consisted of a strangled scream and gore splattering through the night. _Peter's howl was chilling and terrifying as he raced back towards Hale property, his blood drenched claws still dripping her warm blood. He seemed to relish it, the way his eyes blazed and the energy soared through him._

* * *

Stiles woke up with a yelp, crashing his skull against Derek's. They were piled together on his floor, the bedroom door left wide open as Stiles caught sight of a disappearing socked foot. Peter, no doubt making his escape. Worriedly Stiles looked at Derek, watched as he blinked slowly and turned away from Stiles. The events earlier that morning were forgotten in the wake of the revelation their shared memories had brought.

"Dream root," Stiles mumbled. "That's probably what did this."

"If you bring me one more fucking herb, I will tear your throat out with my teeth," Derek growled, sitting up as he rubbed at his forehead subtly.

"Sorry, I didn't… I was just trying to help," Stiles offered cautiously.

Derek avoided his gaze. "Not your fault. I'll talk to Peter."

"I don't think he's going to want that."

"I don't care!" Derek growled, his red irises flashing dangerously. "He isn't going to get away with this."

Derek got to his feet with a growl, clawed hands clenched into fists, blood slowly dripping down them onto the carpet. It was clear he had every intention to chase after Peter –and it wasn't as though Peter didn't deserve it. This had been memory rape –forcing Derek to share what he clearly wasn't ready to. Maybe he never would have been ready to, not that Stiles could blame him, but this was not going to make anything easier. It was a bit of a surprise actually, that Peter hadn't told everyone in the household to turn them against Derek.

Stiles knew what he was going to say, had the words on the tip of his tongue, but at the last second he changed them. Derek was at the doorway. "Isn't Allison an Argent?" he asked tentatively. "And her father, Chris?"

"_She_ was his sister," Derek snapped.

"Did you – did Peter know –that they're -?"

"No," Derek snarled, whirling to look back at Stiles. "You think -?"

"It could have been Peter!" Stiles defended himself. "If he knew. He didn't – he isn't exactly the most sane person around here, Derek."

"Well your friend Lydia doesn't seem to feel the same now does she?" he sneered. "It would be better if everyone just left Peter alone."

"I agree," Stiles offered. "What he did –now and before –totally out of line."

Derek stopped, staring at Stiles in something akin to shock. Stiles managed a smile. Derek rolled his eyes, shook his head and walked away.

"Hey Derek," Stiles said softly, once he was sure Derek was too far away to hear him. "I forgive you."

* * *

_So a couple of things... _

_The dream sequence is meant to be abrupt and jarring and awkward. I kind of decided to write it like that._

_Additionally I never meant to write these scenes. I was going to have Derek eventually describe what had happened. But Peter decided to get the dream root and be creepy so he dragged Derek to Stiles' room and joined their memories via dream root. _

_Also, I finished writing this at about 3:30 am. I apologize for any mistakes. _


End file.
